Keep On Moving
by Casscaro
Summary: Sequel to 'Moving On'. Well, I'm hardly going to let Spike and Buffy settle down in Suburbia, am I? FINAL CHAPTER UP (for this one, anyway ;).
1. Default Chapter

So- this is a sequel. But really, you don't need to have read 'Moving On' to read this (although if you'd _like_ to, it certainly won't hurt any!). All you need to know is Spike and Buffy overcame trials and are now together thanks to a scheming Dawn, and have just spent a cozy night making up for lost time in Rome. The only fly in their happy Roman ointment is that Spike may just have made himself a bit of an enemy - and an Immortal one at that. You just _know_ things aren't going to stay this peaceful, don't you?OK? So - read on...

* * *

A little after mid-day, Dawn opened the apartment door carefully and peered inside. It was all very quiet, shutters closed at the windows, candles on the table burned away. She frowned. Not what she had been hoping to see, but, she reasoned, at least there was no broken furniture, and that had to be to the good. 

She crept inside and gestured to Andrew. He followed her, walking stiffly, head tilted to one side unnaturally. Dawn looked back at him and rolled her eyes. "Will you stop that!" She hissed. "It wasn't that bad!"

"You got the guest bed! You didn't have to sleep on the sofa!" Andrew turned, keeping his head and neck fixed in position. "It's no wonder I have a crick!"

"Oh, for heaven's sake!" Dawn went over to him, placed one hand on his shoulder and one on his ear and pushed. "There. Better?"

Andrew gave a squeal of pain. "I'm not sure you should have done that! Necks are very dangerous things! I may have permanent damage!" He sat down on the sofa gingerly. "Ouch." He whimpered gently.

"Baby." Dawn muttered. She scanned the table. The rose petals were wilted on the table cloth. No plates, no glasses, no sign of a romantic dinner _à deux_. She gave a disappointed sigh.

"Do you think they've gone?" Andrew asked in a stage whisper

Dawn tiptoed over to the doorway of the sitting room and listened. "Well, clearly someone's home, because the shower's running."

"So you think Buffy's home?"

"No, I think some random Roman burglar has broken in and is having a quick shower before he ransacks the place." Dawn gave him her well-practised "d'uh" look.

"Oh!" Andrew suddenly brightened. "Maybe Spike stayed over! Maybe he's in the shower! Should I..."he tried to look casual "go check?"

"No." Dawn glared at him. "We'll wait." She sat next to Andrew on the sofa. They sat in silence for a few moments. "Oh!" Dawn got to her feet. "I can't stand this!"

"I'll check the shower." Andrew made a move to stand.

"Sit!" Dawn snapped. Andrew subsided disappointedly.

Dawn listened at Buffy's bedroom door – absolute silence. She tapped gently. "Buffy...?" and opened the door. The room was deserted, sheets tangled, piles of discarded clothes on the floor – but as far as she could make out, Dawn was disappointed to see, none were male. She frowned. OK...

She tapped gently on the bathroom door. "Buffy?" No reply. Probably couldn't hear her over the sound of the shower. Dawn hesitated, but in the end curiosity about the previous night got the better of her, and she pushed open the bathroom door and looked in. "Buffy...?" she said softly. It took her a few seconds to sort out that the tangle of naked limbs half-visible through the steamed up glass of the shower screen belonged to more than one person and that the particularly well-honed butt she just about make out was clearly not female. "Oh!" She ducked out quickly, closing the door behind her and leaning back against it.

She blushed furiously, then grinned hugely. _Way to go!_

"So, did you see Buffy?" Andrew was sitting on the sofa, ostentatiously rubbing his neck.

Dawn shrugged and sat next to him, picking up a magazine. "No. She and Spike are taking a shower." She flicked through the pages nonchalantly.

"A shower? But there's only one..." Andrew frowned. Dawn raised an eyebrow. "Oh! You mean Spike and Buffy are taking a shower together? Wow. That can't be very comfortable. There's not an awful lot of... Oh!" Realisation struck home as Dawn gave him a disbelieving look. "Oh! A _shower... together..._" It was Andrew's turn to blush. "Right. Umm... together." He sighed. "Wow..."

This time, they waited.

There was a sudden squeal and the sound of the bathroom door flying back on its hinges. A laughing Buffy, markedly deficient in clothes, dashed past the doorway, closely followed by an equally naked Spike, blond hair in tight, wet curls. He suddenly caught sight of the two faces turned his way and froze in mid-stride, open-mouthed in the doorway. Dawn folded her arms and raised an eyebrow. Spike suddenly remembered his predicament and rapidly covered his genitals with his hands. "Dawn!" He managed eventually.

"Spike." Dawn was immensely proud of her level voice and lack of blushingness. It took a considerable effort... well, _Spike_... _naked_... she'd had some pretty lurid teenage fantasies built around that one.

There was a squeak from the bedroom. Spike looked away, then back at Dawn, and if she hadn't been pretty sure vampires couldn't, Dawn would have said he definitely blushed. "I... umm..." He looked vaguely off in the direction of the bedroom, made to speak, changed his mind, shrugged and bolted. There was the sound of urgent and whispered conversation from Buffy's room.

Dawn watched him go, suddenly realised she was grinning inanely and turned to Andrew. "Well..." But Andrew wasn't listening. His eyes were fixed on the spot where Spike had been standing, an expression of pure adoration and wonder on his face. Dawn elbowed him violently in the ribs.

"Ouch!" He jumped, then squeaked and grabbed his neck again. "Don't do that!"

Dawn rolled her eyes. "I'm going to make some coffee. D'you think you could quit with the drooling? You're making a puddle on the carpet."

By the time a thoroughly embarrassed vampire and slayer made their fully-dressed appearance, Dawn was calmly sipping her coffee as if naked people running through her apartment happened every day.

"Hi!" Buffy smiled brightly. "Did you enjoy the opera?"

"Theatre." Dawn shrugged. "It was OK. You two have an exciting evening?" She smiled innocently.

"Nice!" Buffy answered quickly. "It was very... nice. Oh! Coffee!" She took a cup, perched herself primly on the arm of Spike's chair and buried her reddening face in the steam.

Spike was frowning at Andrew, who was watching him with a dazed smile, neck fixed at an unnatural angle. "What's the matter with your neck?" He asked eventually.

"Oh, please don't ask him..." Dawn began.

"I had to sleep on a sofa. Everything aches!" Andrew turned stiffly to glare at Dawn. "It was hard! I was up all night! And now it's all stiff! Have you any idea what that's like!"

Dawn grinned as Buffy choked on her coffee, and Spike did the almost-blushing thing again. She relented. "You guys hungry? I could fix lunch."

"Good idea!" Buffy leapt to her feet. "Let me help!" She cast an apologetic glance to Spike who was giving her 'please don't leave me with him' signals and followed her sister out of the room.

Once alone with Buffy, all Dawn's carefully cultured "no big" attitude failed her. She turned to her sister, grinning hugely. "You and Spike!" She gave a squeal of pleasure. "Oh, my God!"

"Me and Spike." Buffy blushed and looked away, smiling.

"So, is Spike gonna move in?" Dawn was positively bouncing with excitement.

"Dawn, I just..." Buffy sighed. "We've got a lot to work out." She looked over at Dawn. "One step at a time."

"Oh!" Dawn stopped bouncing, and shrugged. "Well... it's just that if he's staying, I'll need to sort out... stuff. You know - blood, Weetabix... and we'll need more beer..." She paused and grinned again. "But...you and _Spike_?"

"Seems so." Buffy smiled, then folded her arms and looked at Dawn sternly. "So your plan worked. When did you get to be so sneaky?"

"Sneaky? Me?" Dawn turned on the wide eyed innocence.

"You stitched me up!"

"Well, maybe a little..." Dawn tried to look contrite, but the grin wouldn't stay down. "Oh, but it was worth it, wasn't it? I mean... _you_ and _Spike_?"

Buffy shook her head, then smiled softly. "It was worth it. But just you wait until you get a boyfriend!"

"Spike's your boyfriend?"

"Now you're channelling Angel."

"Ooo, Angel is going to be so pissed..." Dawn gave a happy smile. "Let's call him."

"No." Buffy said quickly. "No. Don't look at me like that." She sighed and reached out to brush a lock of hair from Dawn's disappointed face. "Look, Dawnie. All this... it's all pretty intense right now. Give us time, huh?" She smiled. "Now, what do we have for lunch?" Buffy rummaged in the fridge.

"There's blood in the freezer." Dawn said casually.

Buffy gave her a disbelieving look. "You got blood? Pretty confident in your sneaky little plan, weren't you?" She went back to her search of the fridge, shaking her head. "Oh! Pizza! Cool! I'm wicked hungry."

"That'll be all that exercise." Dawn grinned.

"Will you stop!" Buffy gave an exasperated sigh.

"You're blushing!"

"Am not!"

"Are too..."

"Shut up and chop... And I can hear you smirking."


	2. Two

By the time darkness began to fall, Spike was stir-crazy. Much as snuggling up on the sofa with Buffy was an attractive prospect, it lost a lot of its appeal when the sofa in question was in a small apartment directly opposite where Dawn and Andrew were sitting trying to make polite conversation. At least, Dawn was. Andrew was sitting opposite Spike, head at the same uncomfortable angle, a strange, fixed grin on his face.

"Is he alright?" Spike watched him nervously.

"As alright as he ever is." Dawn shrugged. "It's never easy to tell."

"Stiff." Andrew finally found his voice. Spike raised an eyebrow. "Neck... stiff."

"Right." Spike frowned.

"So, what are you guys planning to do tonight?" Dawn smiled brightly.

Spike shrugged and turned to Buffy. "You wanna patrol? There just has to be something cryin' out for the slaying round here." He grinned. "You and me? Just like the old times?" An afternoon shut up in the apartment with Dawn and Andrew had Spike craving a little bit of mayhem.

"I don't... patrol... not anymore." Buffy looked embarrassed.

"OK... train, then." He'd settle for a good tussle and the chance of some body contact.

"I don't exactly..." Buffy looked away.

"You've stopped training?"

"Well," She squirmed. "It was just... Morty didn't like me patrolling and the training just sort of..."She changed the subject rapidly. "Oh! We could go see a movie!"

"A movie." Spike gave her a disbelieving look. "You want to go see a movie."

"We could all go!" Dawn clapped her hands excitedly, caught Spike's look and subsided. "Or... maybe not..."

"We have DVDs" Andrew offered. "We could always watch..."

"If he says The Matrix, can I kill him?" Dawn interrupted.

"Go to it." Spike offered. "In fact, even if he doesn't."

"I wasn't going to say The Matrix!" Andrew pouted.

"We could go out..." Dawn looked at Andrew uncertainly. "Leave you two in peace..."

"No!" Buffy stood up, ignoring Spike's frown of disbelief. "You don't need to do that. We're going out." She grabbed Spike's hand and pulled him to his feet.

"We are?"

"We're gonna go do the tourist thing. I wanna go see... stuff." She ended lamely.

"Didn't you go see _stuff_ with _Morty_?" Spike sneered.

"We didn't go... out... much." Her voice tailed away at the expression on Spike's face.

"Oh, I'll bet you didn't."

"You should go see the Coliseum." Dawn tried to defuse the situation. "It's all lit up at night. Real pretty." She smiled lamely.

"Sounds good." Buffy took Spike's hand and led him firmly to the door. "Don't wait up."

Andrew watched them go dejectedly. "I wouldn't mind seeing the Coliseum." He sighed.

_xxxxxx_

Once in the street, Spike turned to Buffy. "So – we escaped. Now what? And what's with the not training?"

She sighed. "I haven't trained for ages. It's been... difficult."

"You don't think that just maybe it would've been a good idea? Still the slayer, still lots of nasties out there want a piece of you."

"This is Rome." She looked away. "I'm... I _was_ The Immortal's girl. Nothing would dare touch me."

"Oh. _Right_. That's OK then." He sneered.

"Look - I made mistakes, OK? You weren't there. It hurt. Ergo vulnerability and bad dating decisions." She looked up at him unhappily. "It was hard."

"Yeah." He brushed a lock of hair away from her face. "I'm sorry. Enough jealous vampire crap, huh?" She smiled and he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close. "We could go back to Wolfram and Hart." He bent to kiss her neck. "I've got the Penthouse all to myself." Buffy shivered as he nipped the tender skin gently. "We'd be all alone..." _Provided Ilona doesn't make on of her unscheduled visits_... he added to himself.

"Mmm..." Buffy was finding it hard to focus as his lips trailed up toward hers. "Alone would be good..." She sighed as their lips brushed softly. "Mmmph... no... wait." Buffy pulled away and Spike gave a frustrated growl. "I couldn't...not there. I mean, the whole evil vibe, coupled with the whole dusty boring legal thing? Not much with the atmosphere. And besides, wouldn't _she_ be there?"

"She?"

"Ilona." Buffy said her name with a healthy dose of disdain.

Spike raise an eyebrow. "Well, I wasn't thinking of asking her to join in, but now you come to mention it... could be fun."

"In your dreams." Buffy snorted and then paused. "Actually, that better not figure in your dreams..."

Spike grinned. "Well, if nothing else, I want my duster. I'll take the car and collect some stuff."

"I'm coming with you." Buffy said quickly.

"No need. Only take a few minutes."

"It's OK. Nothing better to do. Besides, I'd really like to see Ilona again." She gave Spike a bright smile.

Spike frowned at her in puzzlement. "You would?"

"Sure!" The bright smile became more fixed. "Never thanked her for rescuing you."

"Right..." He shook his head bemusedly then paused in thought. "Actually, might not be a bad idea. Got a little favour to ask her."

_xxxxxx_

"Spike!" Ilona wrapped her arms around Spike, pulling him close, and giving him a lingering kiss on the cheek. "Let me look at you." She took his face in her hands. "Ah, so 'andsome!" She purred. "No ill effects from your leetle adventure, huh? Mary! Pah! I spit on her! Except, of course, there is nothing left of her upon which to spit! Your poor wrists! Let me see. Ah! No scars! The vampire healing, huh? You vampires – you have so many advantages, with the strength and the stamina and the..." She gave a lazy smile, "_special_ skills." She ran a lingering finger down his cheek, and Buffy wasn't altogether sure she liked the smile they exchanged. She frowned and gave a deliberate cough. "And Boofy!" Ilona turned with a smile. "'Ow... _nice_." She leant towards Buffy, kissing the air close to her cheek noisily but perfunctorily. She turned back to Spike, dismissing Buffy completely. "Now – to the business. I need to talk to you." She hooked her arm through his. "Come into my office."

Buffy was having none of it. She moved swiftly to slip her hand through Spike's other arm. Ilona glanced over at her, an amused smile twitching her lips. "I think it is best we talk..." she looked up at Spike seductively and purred "...alone."

"Well, I'm sure Spike won't mind if I come too. Right, Spike?" Buffy smiled determinedly.

Spike winced as her grip on his arm tightened. "Well..."

"It is, shall we say, a personal matter. Very personal." She smiled sweetly at Buffy. "I'm sure you understand. Come! Pietro will look after you." The man in question appeared at Ilona's side. "_Pietro_, v_ai un cercare un caffe e dolce qual checosa di mangiare_." Ilona released Spike's arm and took Buffy's. "You like coffee, yes? Pietro, he make excellent coffee! The angels, they would kill for Pietro's coffee. You sit 'ere. Sit! Sit! I will not keep 'im for so long." She patted Buffy on the arm with an indulgent smile. "So _sweet_!"

Despite herself, Buffy was manoeuvred to one of the leather armchairs close to Pietro's desk, where she sat, watching Spike and Ilona stroll off arm in arm. She gave a sigh of frustration. How does she do that? She folded her arms and sat back in the chair with a frown.

_xxxxxx_

Ilona sat down at her desk and looked up at Spike, a half smile curving her lips. "So. You and your Boofy, you are together, huh?"

Spike wandered over to the fridge and helped himself to a beer. "Looks like."

"Is good. If it is what you want, then I am 'appy for you. I still say it is a waste, but..." She shrugged. "So, what you do now?"

"Do?" he sat down next to the desk.

"Well, you know, _l'amore_ is all very nice, but she doesn't pay the bills or buy the blood."

"I'll get by. Always have up 'til now. Can't see why it has to change."

"Ah." Ilona smiled indulgently. "I know very well 'ow you 'get by' up until now. Many of our clients 'ave 'ad experience of your 'getting by'." Spike gave an abashed grin. "And your Boofy will be happy for you to continue with your... enterprises? Hmm." She looked at him consideringly. "I had a call from one of our clients this morning. One of our major clients." Ilona raised an eyebrow at him. "And I think maybe an acquaintance of yours."

"Oh?" Spike frowned and took pull from the bottle.

"Our client, he was a leetle concerned, because you see, some private information is not so private any more. And the strange thing is that this information, as far as we know it is only kept 'ere, at Wolfram and 'art."

"Oh, I can see he'd be concerned." Spike nodded understandingly.

"Ah, _si_. He is _very_ concerned. Especially as this information, she is being used for the blackmail."

"Blackmail, huh?" Spike was the picture of innocence. "Dirty business."

"Ah, no! If handled correctly, there is nothing wrong with a leetle blackmail – it is an art!" Ilona shrugged. "If it wasn't for blackmail, Wolfram and 'art would be very much less successful than it is. But in this case, it is... 'ow shall I put it... a leetle _crude_." She gave Spike a long look. "Now, of course we have looked very carefully at what may have happened, at how this... _information_... became known. And our client is naturally happy to hear that it is policy 'ere at Wolfram and 'art to deal with such things very severely. For example, we find one of our staff does such a thing we... 'ow you say... terminate them."

"Well, the sack is the least they can expect." Spike reasoned.

Ilona gave a throaty chuckle. "No, no, not _sack_ them. Terminate them!" She drew a finger across her neck. "Permanently."

"Oh."

"But then... if there is no proof of anything – and there is no proof that can be shown here, you know – then... there is nothing we can do except smooth the ruffled feathers." She shrugged helplessly. "Clearly this information came from sources outside of Wolfram and 'art. There is no evidence that the file was opened..." She looked at Spike. "At least, not any more..."

"Well that's...good."

"Si." Ilona watched him through narrowed eyes. "You know, our employees they are very happy. 'Ere at Wolfram and 'art, we look after our people. And other people, they do not mess with Wolfram and 'art. So, it is a good position to be in if you maybe need a leetle... _protection._.. to be a member of the family, no?" She looked at him levelly.

"I can see it would be."

"So – maybe you would like to join our family. Given the circumstances."

"I don't know what you mean." Spike tried the blue-eyed innocent look.

Ilona wasn't buying. "Spike." Her voice was full of concern. "The Immortal... he is a very bad enemy." She lowered her voice. "_Ecco_. I will do what I can to protect you, but I cannot go against the Senior Partners. I have no wish to be... terminated. I like you..." She purred "...very much, but I like to live more. As one of us, you would be safer." She shrugged and leant back in her seat. "And you would get the employee benefits, you know, we are generous employers... _il mensa_, paid holiday, pension, company car... money..."

_Money's good_, the thought flashed through his mind. _But..._ "To do what? Not exactly Harvard Law School, am I?"

Ilona smiled and leant forward. "Ah, but there is more to Wolfram and 'art than the Law. There are... _positions_... for a man with talents such as yours."

Spike looked determinedly away from her cleavage and forced his mind away from images of ... _positions_. "Working for the evil empire? Not sure I can square that anymore."

"Ah, the soul." She shrugged. "Angeloos seems to have... _squared it_..."

"I'm not Angel."

"No. You are not." Ilona shrugged. "The offer is there. You must think carefully. And I think you find it hard right now." She leaned back in her chair with a rueful smile. "I think maybe you have other things on your mind, huh? But be careful - I do not want to see that pretty head of yours smooshed. Watch your back. And your Boofy's back, too."

"Yeah." Spike frowned thoughtfully. "Speaking of which, I've got a favour to ask. I need a room... and some equipment."


	3. Three

"C'mon!" Spike glared at Buffy. "Go for it! Fight like you mean it." They had been in Wolfram and Hart's training room for a good half hour, and despite Spike's best efforts Buffy really wasn't trying.

She glared back. "I am! I do mean it!"

"No. You're not. That last punch wouldn't have floored Andrew!"

"I..." She sighed. "I told you I don't want to fight you." She tried pouting. "I don't want to hurt you."

Spike wasn't letting her off that easily. "Vampire. Doesn't hurt." He considered and shrugged. "Much. C'mon, pet! You're getting soft."

"I'm not soft." She folded her arms and glared at him.

"Soft and comfortable." He watched her through narrowed eyes.

"Comfortable? What do you mean 'comfortable'?" She frowned at him. "Are you saying I'm fat?"

"Well, "he shrugged, "Personally I like to see a nice bit of arse on a bird, but some people..."

"You're saying my butt's big?" She twisted and peered over her shoulder. "It is not big!"

"No, pet." He circled her slowly. "'Course not. It's very nice."

"You..." She turned to glare at him. "I am _so_ gonna kick your ass."

"You've lost it, slayer." The grin was a challenge.

"Oh, you think?"

They continued to circle each other, Spike grinning, Buffy watching him.

"Probably was about time you stepped down, huh? Let someone else take over. Someone younger... you know... fitter... smaller arse... Ouf!" He found himself flat on his back on the floor, jaw aching. Hadn't seen that one coming. He laughed delightedly. "That's my girl!" He leapt back onto his feet and launched a swing at her. She blocked his fist effortlessly, her foot making contact with his midriff at the same time. "Not bad... considering." He rubbed his stomach and grinned as she circled him, balanced and ready.

"Considering the butt?" She raised an eyebrow then launched an attack. He gave a whoop of delight and fought back. No holds barred this time, each giving as good as they got until finally a wrong move had her on her stomach on the floor, her arms pinned behind her back. Spike straddled her as she struggled ineffectually. "Will you get _off!_"

"Say 'uncle'." He grinned.

"Will not!" She redoubled her efforts to shake him off. "Ouch! OK, OK. UNCLE!"

He flipped her over on her back, keeping her underneath him and looked down at her with a grin. "No, you don't." Her fist flew up and he blocked the punch, pinning her arms back against the floor. "Well, that was disappointingly easy."

She struggled half-heartedly. "And the point of this little display is?"

"The point of this... look, the Mary thing? What if she'd had her one good day, huh? If she'd got close? You think you'd have taken her?"

"Yes!" She glared at him then frowned. "I... yes..." she sounded less certain.

"When did you last patrol?" He frowned as she looked away with a shrug. "OK. When did you last train?"

"I don't train, OK?" She wriggled. "Do you think you could get off me now?"

"Nope. Like it here. Stop changing the subject. Why?"

"Because..." she was lost for words. "I..." _I'd forgotten who I was... _"I told you why."

"Because Morty didn't like it? Bollocks! C'mon, Buffy – this is me. Like you'd let him tell you what to do."

She was quiet for a moment, biting her lip. Then she sighed. "No. It was me. I didn't want to fight anymore. I was tired, Spike, you know? Years of being the one to fight the good fight come rain or shine or... or apocalypse. Everybody just expected me to carry on, despite everything that happened." She shook her head.

"And did you?" He moved to lie down at her side, propped himself on one elbow.

"I patrolled in England. I mean, it wasn't like SunnyD, there weren't hoards of them, but there were enough to keep me busy on the odd night. And sometimes I'd take one of the new slayers along. And one night," she paused, "One night we were surprised – band of vampires, and it was OK, we were doing OK, and then there was another vampire, just coming out of the shadows and he..." She closed her eyes briefly... _he had this short blond hair and this leather jacket and the accent and for a moment..._ "And I froze and the girl went down. She was very young, you know?" She caught Spike's stricken look. "Oh, she didn't... I mean, it was OK in the end. But it was too close. It scared me – made me think that maybe whatever drove me before wasn't there anymore, and maybe I'd lost it. So when I came to Rome, the thing with Morty... that was my excuse to myself to just stop... stop being the Slayer... and then there seemed no point in training."

"Love, you may not be the one and only any more, but you're still the Slayer, and out there – there's plenty know you. You can't afford to let it go. You can't afford to slip up." He cupped her cheek with his hand. "_I_ can't afford for you to slip up. Not losing you now." He shook his head. "So, you're stepping away from the whole thing? You really think you can do that?"

"No. No, I don't. Not now." She frowned in thought. "Giles is working on rebuilding the Council. They've asked me to go back, to work with them and with the new slayers. I... wasn't ready before, but maybe now." She looked up at him. "I could help, really make a difference."

Spike shrugged. "You should go. To England. Go help Giles. Go help the others."

"_We_ should go."

"Oh, yeah. And Giles is going to love that." Spike snorted. "This is the moron that tried to have me wasted, remember?"

"I don't care what Giles wants. I want you and I'm not going without you. Besides, you've got all the inside information. You know loads of stuff I'll bet the council never knew."

"What, so you're asking me to rat on my kind? You wanna just think about that one? Got some loyalty, you know."

"You _kill_ your kind!"

"Well, yeah. Sometimes." He frowned. "But I'm no grass."

"You helped train the potentials. You gave them all sorts of tips then."

"Only enough so they wouldn't get their stupid selves offed by the first fledgling vamp they met! Give them a fighting chance, like." He shrugged. "Didn't tell them everything..." he muttered, pouting.

Buffy gave a snort of laughter. "Vampire morality! Colour me confused." Spike gave her a hurt look and she relented. "You could come train the new slayers. Like you did before. You could help with stuff on demons... OK... not vampires..." She put her hand up to his face. "I mean it, Spike. I'm going nowhere without you."

He smiled. "Might be nice to go back to Blighty again." The smile took on an edge. "And maybe I can straighten things out with old Rupert."

"No straightening!" Buffy frowned at him. "No vendettas."

"Would I?" Wide-eyed innocence.

"Well - yes."

"Best behaviour. Promise."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Hmm. Still, it'll be good to see everyone again. Dawn and Andrew..."

"Andrew." Spike grimaced. "Do we have to take Andrew?"

"He's not safe to be left. Besides, I think he's all set to follow you to the ends of the earth. Little bit of a cru..."

"Don't!" Spike pointed a finger at her. "Don't even _think_ it."

She grinned. "And Willow; it'll be so cool to see Willow..." She looked up at him, smiling softly. "And maybe..." she gave him a shove, unbalancing him, and surged to her feet. "Maybe I'll get me a worthy opponent to spar with."

"Worthy, is it?" Spike was on his feet, too. "Don't tell me you didn't enjoy that."

"And why would I enjoy that?" They were circling each other again, eyes locked.

"Nice bit of body contact. You know you love it." He grinned, raised a teasing eyebrow.

"Oh, you think?"

"Oh, I _know_." Tongue against teeth, head tilted.

She grinned back savagely. "This room's soundproof, right?"

"Yeah..." He eyed her suspiciously.

"And the door's locked?"

"Yeah..."

"So," her hand moved to the waistband of her trouser "no-one will hear you scream." She watched him under lowered lashes as she slowly undid the zip. "I'll give you body contact," she growled.

_xxxxxx_

Later, they walked hand-in-hand through the lights and shadows of a Roman night, just another young couple in love, one among many. They passed unnoticed, save for admiring glances, anonymous, no-one to know them or to judge them. And it was easy to live for the moment – for the feel of his hand in hers, the touch of his lips, the sound of his voice – and it felt good.

He slid an arm around her waist. "You want to stop for a coffee?" They were passing a small café, tables invitingly lit by candles, the smell of fresh espresso in the air.

"Uh-uh. All coffee'd out. Pietro kept feeding me more and more of the stuff while I waited for you. It was very nice coffee, but I don't think I'll be coming down from this caffeine high any time soon." Buffy smiled and glanced up at Spike. "So, what was so private that Ilona had to lock you away in her office?"

"Offered me a job." Spike shrugged.

"She what?" Buffy stopped dead and turned to look up at him open-mouthed. "You are kidding me, right?"

"No. Said she might have a position for me."

"Oh, I'll bet she has." Buffy snorted.

Spike frowned. "What are you talking about? Oh, wait!" The frown turned to a smug grin. "You're jealous!"

"I am _so_ not jealous!"

"Are too! Little bit of the old green eye."

"Don't flatter yourself! There is no green eye. Besides, why should I be jealous? No reason to be jealous." She frowned and looked up at him. "Have I?"

He looked straight ahead, grinning. "Trevi."

"Huh? Who's Trevi?"

"Not who, what. Over there. Trevi Fountain." He led her down the narrow street and suddenly they were in a Piazza alive with the sound of water from an immense and impressively lit fountain. Buffy gasped. "Wow!"

"You've never seen this?" Spike shook his head. "How long have you been in Rome? Did you _ever_ go out?"

"Never did the tourist thing much. We did the shopping thing a lot. But not so much the historical thing. I bought the guides, even read them but never quite made it here."

"Well, I guess the works of the great masters do pale into insignificance beside a well crafted Prada handbag." Spike snorted.

"Shh!".She wrapped her arms around herself against the cooler air of the open Piazza and walked up to the wall of the fountain. "Would you look at that?" she sighed.

"You cold?" He wrapped his arms around her from behind.

"A little."

"Here." He took off his duster and wrapped it around her shoulders. She slipped her arms into the sleeves, giggling when she realised her hand were no where near the sleeve ends, and pulled the soft, worn leather closer. It smelt of Spike – bittersweet, smoky, a complex mixture of a hundred faint memories, heady and seductive.

She leaned against him, watching the play of waters in the Fountain. "Pretty!"

"Bit baroque for my tastes. Do with a bit less of the twiddles and stuff." He examined it critically.

"Twiddles and stuff? Philistine!" She laughed. "This is supposed to be the most beautiful fountain in Rome!"

"Whole lot less pretty without Anita Ekberg cavorting in it." Buffy looked at him blankly. "La Dolce Vita? You haven't seen La Dolce Vita? Fellini?" he raised his eyes heavenwards. "Your education is sadly lacking."

"Hmph. Well, I do know one thing. If you want to come back to Rome you have to throw a coin into the fountain. Give." She held out her arm, sleeve flapping.

"What? I'm not wasting hard earned cash chucking it some poncy fountain!"

"Hard earned?" She gave a snort of laughter. "Don't be so mean."

"Here." He looked around and then quickly reached over the wall of the fountain, grabbing a stray coin from the water. "There you go. What?" He grinned at her raised eyebrow. "Go on. Throw it over your left shoulder." She shook her head, turned and threw the coin. He watched it fall with a splash back into the waters of the fountain. "Right. Now you have to do the second thing, to make sure it works."

"Second thing?"

"Well, yeah." He put his arms around her. "Kiss a gorgeous and athletic stranger."

"I guess they don't come much stranger than you." She whispered as his mouth found hers.


	4. Four

The trip back to England took a good deal more effort to organise than Buffy expected. It turned out there were a number of things that had to be taken into account – largely revolving around the need for an evening flight to avoid the big pile of dust problem and Spike's stubborn refusal to fly on a German airline.

"What's wrong with German airlines?" Buffy asked, perplexed.

"Let's just say I've got issues about being cooped up in a German cigar tube." Spike frowned. "Bloody submarine." He muttered.

"Submarine? There's a submarine?" She looked at him bemusedly.

"Let's not go there." He gave her a sideways look. "We could always ask Ilona for a loan of the company jet."

"We will not!" Buffy shook her head. "Not being beholden to that w... to Wolfram and Hart for anything."

"Ah-ha." Spike turned away with a smirk. He picked up a red t-shirt from the pile put aside on the bed for packing and held it out to Buffy. "You should wear this. Contrast nicely with the green eyes."

"You know, I'm not averse to unnecessary violence." She folded her arms.

"Oh, me neither." Spike grabbed her and pulled her down onto the bed.

"We're squashing my clothes!" Buffy wriggled.

"Take them off, then." He slid a hand up under her t-shirt.

"I was talking about..." She gasped as his hand found her breast. "No wait! Spike! The packing..."

"Yeah?" He brushed his lips lightly over hers.

"Oh... never mind..." she sighed contentedly and pulled him closer.

_xxxxxx_

"OK. So – where are we?" Buffy consulted her clipboard. "Gotta hand it to Andrew, he's good with the lists." She picked up a pen. "Tickets – check. Passports – check." She gave a puzzled frown. "You know, I never did figure out where Spike got a passport."

"Oh, it's easy. Spike says you can buy anything you want if you know the right demons to talk to." Dawn emerged from under her bed and dumped a pile of shoes next to her case. "And Spike knows everybody."

"I'm sure he does." Buffy raised an eyebrow and went back to her list. "Ring Giles – check. Buffy packing – check." _If a little creased..._ she blushed at the memory. "More or less. Umm... Andrew packing – judging by the by the rustle of bubble-wrap, I guess that's underway. Dawn packing..."

"I'm doing it! I'm doing it!"

"Last minute as ever." She went back to her list. "Spike packing – how come he has stuff to pack all of a sudden?"

"Ilona gave him some really neat clothes. Designer stuff. Spike says she has great taste." Dawn held up a pink dress, frowned and threw it into a garbage bag.

"Hmph." Buffy snorted. She looked at her watch. "How long has he been gone? How long does it take to pack a few shirts... sorry _designer_ shirts, a pair of jeans and a toothbrush?"

"Well, he has to say his goodbyes to Ilona." Dawn said with feigned innocence. "I mean, they're, like, real good friends."

"Goodbyes! The hellos take long enough. What with all the huggings and the kissings and then more huggings. Still say it's way over the top, even for an Italian." Buffy folded Dawn's clothes moodily. "And you should see her. All with the tight skirt and the... I'm not convinced they're real, you know. Silicone." She nodded, tight-lipped. "I mean, obvious or what?"

Dawn smiled to herself. Baiting Buffy was _so_ easy. "So – are you all done?"

"Yeah, except... I'm going to need to go and see Morty." Buffy bit her lip.

"Why?" Dawn's voice emerged from the depths of the wardrobe.

"I left some of my stuff there."

"You could restock in London." Dawn emerged with armfuls of clothes, looked at her case and frowned. "You know, I think I need a bigger case."

"Andrew took the biggest case."

"Why? What does he have to pack?"

Buffy shrugged. "Something about his collection. All those hours he spends online? Ebay. Anyway, where did you get all that lot from? No wonder we never have any cash!" Buffy shook her head. "Which is one reason why I need to go get my stuff. Besides, it feels ookie leaving it there."

"You want me to go?" Dawn looked hopeful.

"So you can no doubt get a lot of vindictive pleasure telling Morty about me and Spike? I don't think so."

"Spoilsport." Dawn pouted.

"Nope. I need to do this. I need to finish things in a proper adult manner. Because I'm a proper adult." She sat up straight. "Right thing to do." She slumped. "And if things get nasty, I'll cry."

"Never fails." Dawn frowned and held up a vividly patterned shirt. "D'you think I should keep this?"

"Only if you want to look like an accident in a paint factory." Buffy winced.

"You don't like it?" Dawn shrugged. "OK. You can have it back then."

"It's mine?" Buffy said in disbelief. "You stole my shirt?"

"What do you care? You just said you didn't like it!"

Buffy gave a long-suffering sigh and stood up. "OK. I'm off. If I'm not back in an hour, call the police." She caught Dawn's worried look. "Joke. What's to worry about? See you later."

_xxxxxx_

Spike was less than pleased when he found Buffy gone.

"She's gone _where_?"

"To see Morty. Don't frown at me! It was her idea. Besides, she's only just gone to pick up her stuff. Back in no time. You could always go call for her."

"I..." He considered. Given the circumstances, it was probably better he stayed away from The Immortal. "She's not back in half-an-hour, I'll do just that." He sat down on the sofa, folded his arms and glared.

"Stop brooding." Dawn busied herself sorting through drawers.

"I don't brood." The glare was turned on Dawn.

"Do too. Gone all Angel on me. So." She smiled benignly. "How was Ilona?"

"Fine." He said slowly, watching her suspiciously.

"Buffy doesn't like Ilona." Dawn continued rummaging in the drawers.

"You don't say." Spike raised an eyebrow.

"No, she thinks she dresses like a hooker." Dawn frowned at a metallic object with no obvious use, shrugged and threw it into a box. "Is she pretty?"

"She's..." Spike gave an exasperated sigh. "Can I refuse to answer that on the grounds it might incriminate me?"

"D'you like her?"

"Do I _what_?"

"You know. Do you...what's that word you use? Oh! Fancy! Do you fancy her?"

"_Do I..._?" Spike frowned at her. "Where do you get off asking questions like that?"

"Well, why not? You're, like, my brother-in-law." Dawn grinned.

"I am _not_ your brother-in-law."

"Practically family. Means I've got the right to ask as many embarrassing questions as I like." She sat next to him and snuggled close, resting her head on his shoulder. "So, tell me why Buffy was giggling in her room last night."

_xxxxxx_

Buffy opened the apartment door, smiling happily. "Well, that was easy! I thought he'd be at least a little bit upset. Guess I should be insulted really, but..." She came into the apartment, two large bags in her hands. She looked over at Dawn and Spike on the sofa and her smile froze. "Who the hell are you?" She dropped the bags, unconsciously poised for a fight.

Dawn looked up at her with a puzzled frown. "Buffy?"

"You've invited a _vampire_ into our home? You do know he's a vampire? Jeez, Dawn, I thought you'd learnt from the last fiasco. Dating vampires bad!" She glared at Spike. "You. Get off my sofa."

"Buffy?" Dawn looked at her in shock. "Buffy this is Spike."

"And?" Buffy frowned.

Spike stood up quickly, mind racing. _What the fuck..._ "I'm a friend of Angel's." he said quickly, giving a calming hand signal to Dawn.

"And that is a recommendation how exactly?" Buffy glared at him.

Dawn was looking at Spike in bewilderment. "Spike...?"

"We met – once. But it was a while ago. You've probably forgotten..." His voice trailed away.

"Apparently. We met and _still_ you're here bothering me? Must have had an off night." Buffy folded her arms and glared at him. "What do you want?"

Spike shook himself, brain working frantically to make some sense of what was happening. "Angel heard you were going back to England. Asked me to check in. See if I could do anything to help." Whatever was going on here, humouring Buffy seemed the safest option.

"Still with the vampire inability to pick up the 'phone, huh?" She gave a frustrated sigh. "Look, tell Angel – thanks, but you know, I can manage without his help. And now, much to do with the packing and the leaving." She picked up her bags. "Especially the leaving. Dawn will see you out. Now."

Dawn watched her leave the room then turned to Spike, her face stricken. "Spike?" Her voice trembled with tears. "I don't understand."

"Oh, I think I do." Spike's voice was hard. "Dawnie, look." He took hold of her arms. "Look at me. Right. I need you to carry on as if nothing's unusual, OK? Pack. Go to England. Don't try anything until you've spoken to Giles and Willow."

"But... you..." Dawn's eyes were panicked. "I can't!"

"You can. Call Giles. Tell him what's happened. And make sure Andrew behaves." He smiled gently and wiped a tear from her cheek. "It's OK, pet. We'll sort this out. Couldn't be anywhere better right now than with Giles and Willow. Don't want to worry Buffy, OK? Need you to be strong for me."

"OK." She sniffed.

"That's my girl." Spike pulled her close and kissed the top of her head, swallowing hard against the sudden lump in his throat.

"What will you do?" Her voice was muffled against his chest as she clung to him fiercely. "You'll still come to England, won't you?"

"I'll follow you." He hugged her hard then let her go. "Got something I need to do first."

The cold anger in his voice made her wince. She watched him shrug on his duster, every muscle tense, and leave. He didn't look back. "Be careful." She whispered, as the door closed behind him.


	5. Five

The Immortal's guards were waiting for him, but then, his mood hardly made for a subtle entrance. The thick oak of the door was no match for his rage, but the three heavily-built demons waiting for him on the other side were. There was a brief, bloody scuffle - Spike in game face roaring his anger and frustration as the bloodstained and bruised guards finally wrestled him to the floor and chained his arms behind his back. They hustled the snarling vampire along the hall, taking every available opportunity to wreak revenge for their broken noses and torn and bruised flesh. In the dining room, The Immortal was calmly finishing a meal at a table dressed with exquisite china and fine crystal.

"What the hell have you done to her?" Spike spat a mouthful of blood onto the expensive Persian carpet.

"Good evening." The Immortal reached over to a bowl of fruit and carefully selected a ripe peach. "So good of you to call by. Have you met Count Cagliostro?" He gestured to his table guest. "No? The Count is a very good friend of mine and a very fine warlock." The elegant, dark-eyed stranger raised a glass in salute, a smile twisting his lips. The Immortal looked up at Spike briefly. "A very fine and _powerful_ warlock, whom I have known ever since ... well, let us say he was the making of me."

"What the _bloody hell_ have you done to her?" Spikes voice was tight with rage.

"To her? Ah, to _Buffy_? Why, nothing!" The Immortal gave him a surprised look and turned his attention back to his peach. "Oh!" He picked up an ornate silver fruit knife. "Unless you are referring to the removal of some extraneous memories."

"You wiped her memory?" Spike looked at him in disbelief.

"Good heavens, no!" The Immortal looked up at him, aghast. "That would be inhuman!" He smiled and looked back to the fruit in his hand. "We merely wiped her memory of you. _That _was an act of humanity." He began to peel the peach calmly. "It was strangely easy to unravel the thread of your past and re-knit what was left." He peeled another sliver of skin from the peach. "Remarkably easy. And the result is... seamless." He rested the knife on his plate and looked up at Spike. "She doesn't know you. To her you will be just another vampire. Another of the loathsome, evil creatures she has spent so long destroying. She will hate you. Or... no, not even that. You will be nothing to her." His eyes were hard. "But then, you _are_ nothing. A pathetic excuse for a demon, and a sad apology of a man."

"I could kill you." Pain made Spike's voice rasp in his throat.

"No, actually, you couldn't. I could, however, kill _you_. But where's the fun in that? And besides," he narrowed his eyes, "It seems you have friends in high places, and really, you're not worth it. No – much better this way. Buffy gets to be free of her little... peccadillo, you get to spend the rest of your sad unlife remembering how close you got, and how it felt, and thinking about what could have been." He sliced the peach carefully in half. "I like that _much_ better."

Spike struggled ineffectively, earning himself a stinging slap to the head from one of the guards. He staggered then pulled himself upright, glaring defiance at his captors.

The Immortal turned to face him. "Desist!" he rasped. "You tried to blackmail me. That, I could understand, and I had a certain _respect_ for you. But you lied to me. You do not know my name. Signora Costa Bianchi assured me that her systems are unbreakable, and I am certain, although she denies it, that you... shall we say... gained access to your information through certain files at Wolfram and Hart. Besides, Count Cagliostro would sense that something was not well should our little secret be known. So, you lie - and although I admire your sheer gall, I will not deal with liars. It is a question of honour." His eyes slid contemptuously over Spike's bloodied body. "You are bleeding on my carpet." He gestured to his guards and turned away dismissively. "Get rid of it."

A punch to the head sent Spike reeling. Followed by the Count, the guards dragged him semi-conscious to the door and dumped him unceremoniously on the street. Behind him, the warlock quickly placed a warding spell over the doorway. The man smiled down as Spike struggled to his feet, shaking his head in an attempt to clear it. "And this is permanent. No point in bribing the cleaner for an invitation this time. You are... 'ow do you English say? Oh, yes. You are barred." He gave a mocking salute and closed the battered door on the shattered vampire.

Spike made his painful way back to Wolfram and Hart and managed to get up to the penthouse without arousing too much interest. Clearly people beaten within and inch of their lives were common enough in the back corridors of Wolfram and Hart. He stripped off his bloody clothes and examined the cuts and bruises to his ribs and stomach. He hadn't noticed how hard he was being kicked at the time, adrenalin and demon-rush he guessed, but now the pain was really setting in and he was bloody sure a few ribs had gone. He limped, wincing, to the shower, letting the jets of hot water pound sore muscles, letting the physical pain blunt the edges of the white-hot agony of his anger and frustration.

He made for the bar next to the bed and poured himself a large measure of Jack Daniels. He downed it in one, wincing as the raw spirit stung his torn lips, and poured himself a second, then a third. His mind reeled, refused to settle, shied from thinking through what had happened. The image of Buffy filled his mind, the lack of recognition in her eyes so much worse than the cold contempt. Hell, he'd seen that often enough before, could deal with that, but... _she didn't know him_. After all they'd been through together, after everything they'd shared in the past few days, all their messy, painful, complicated, _beautiful_ past – The Immortal had taken it away. She'd treated him like a man – like _her_ man – and he'd taken that away. He'd made him into nothing more in her eyes than a nameless... _fucking_... **_monster_**! The glass cracked and broke in his hand. He looked down at the dark drops of blood oozing around the shards of glass in his palm, felt the anger recede and a heavy weariness settle on him. He collapsed, still wet and bleeding on to the bed, and let the waves of pain and exhaustion wash over him. His battered body was screaming for rest, his whiskey-numbed mind craved oblivion, and honestly? Didn't have the will to fight it. _Fuck_, he thought drowsily. White linen sheets. The housekeeper was going to be chuffed.

He came to a little while later to the feel of someone gently cleaning his face with something warm and soft. He opened his one good eye to see Ilona perched on the side of the bed, a blue glass bowl in one hand and a faintly medicinal smelling cloth in the other.

"So, you are back with us." She smiled grimly and continued to clean the blood from his face.

He winced. "Pardon me if I don't get up."

"Keep still." She frowned. "Look at you! Whatever 'ave you been doing?"

"Just a scratch." He closed his eyes wearily. "Should see the other guy." He sighed. "Had a bit of a run in with one of your clients. See? Really not the sort of bloke you should consider employing."

"The Immortal." Ilona shook her head. "I warn you! The Immortal, 'e is a very bad enemy. You go out there and try to deal with this alone – 'is no good! And see? Smooshed!" She shook her head. "You play with the fire."

"And I got burnt. Yeah." He winced as she moved to the bruises on his chest. "Ouch! What is that stuff?"

"Is nothing. Just a few 'erbs – a leetle potion. It is my grandmother's recipe. She was a very accomplished witch." She frowned in concentration. "I come from a very long line of accomplished witches. Do not be the baby. It will 'elp with the healing." She continued to clean his wounds. "You 'ave two maybe three broken ribs. _Merda!_ What did you do?"

"The usual. Fucked up."

"Well, certainly picking the most powerful man in Roma as an enemy is very much the fucking up. You know," she narrowed her eyes in thought, "my grandmother almost certainly has a proverb. "She chuckled softly. "But right now it escapes me." She shook her head. "So, why now? What you do to get like this?"

"I went to see him." Spike sighed. "Thing is, he knows I couldn't have opened the file. He knows I couldn't break the spell."

"And you went to see him? That seems – how shall I say – less than wise."

He..." He swallowed hard. "He fucked with Buffy's memories. She doesn't have any memories of me. I don't exist for her anymore."

Ilona paused in her ministrations and Spike looked up at her. "Don't." The shock and sympathy in her eyes was almost too much to bear. He closed his eyes. "It's not over." He said determinedly.

"No. No, for you I think it will never be over." Ilona hissed as he examined the bruising on his stomach. "Not until you are dust, huh?"

He gave a wry laugh, wincing as it triggered a stab of pain in his chest. "Not necessarily even then, as it turns out."

"OK." Ilona put down the cloth and bowl. "Is enough."

"Got kicked in the groin, too." Spike gestured to the sheet covering his hips and gave her the best suggestive smirk he could manage under the circumstances. "You wanna tend to that?"

"Ah, _si_, I would be very happy to attend to that. But maybe when things are a leetle less painful, huh?" She chuckled. "Now. Sit." She picked up a roll of bandage and began to quickly and professionally bind his ribs.

"Ouch!" He winced. "Not so tight!"

"Oh, why is that? You are afraid you will not be able to breathe perhaps?" She shook her head with a smile. "For the big hero, you make much fussing. Trust Ilona. This needs to be tight. _Ecco_. Is done."

Spike shrugged his shoulders carefully. Had to admit his chest felt better. "Where'd you learn to do that? Wait – don't tell me – your grandmother."

"No, not my grandmother." She looked away. "Maybe I tell you about my ex husband sometime." She said darkly. She shrugged and turned back to him. "So. What you do now?"

He wiped a hand across his mouth, wincing, and looked down at the blood on his bruised hand. "Gonna see a witch about a girl." He said quietly.


	6. Six

Spike took Ilona's offer of the Wolfram and Hart jet. Overall, he felt it was probably easier, given the broken ribs and general discomfort. Besides, Ilona really wasn't taking 'no' for an answer and Spike had been quick to learn that resistance was pretty much useless. At Heathrow, he found she'd even arranged to speed him through customs and had a car waiting for him, complete with liveried driver. He shook his head bemusedly as the driver held open the door of the sleek black Jaguar. Friends in high places – or maybe, given the discreet Wolfram and Hart pin in the driver's lapel, low places – clearly had its benefits. Although he wasn't totally convinced there wasn't a hidden agenda in Ilona's solicitous concern for his welfare. If she organised everything, then she, and presumably Wolfram and Hart, knew exactly where he was. Still, right now it suited him to be whisked eastwards in comfort. He sat back in the soft leather of the car's seat with a sigh, watching the old country pass by through windows spangled with the amber of streetlights reflected in rain drops.  
  
Despite himself, he felt a stirring of excitement at being in the old home town again. When they'd talked about coming here, he'd imagined doing the tourist bit, showing Buffy some of the city, some of his old haunts – if any of them still existed – maybe take her to the theatre, a club. And now... He frowned at himself. _Will you get a grip?_ Last thing he needed right now was to get maudlin. Needed to focus. Needed to face up to... _Bugger_. Not nearly ready.  
  
Partly to combat his suspicions about Wolfram and Hart and partly because it would delay the inevitable, Spike asked to be dropped at the nearest underground station when the driver asked for an address. To give the man credit, he seemed completely unruffled by the request – and by Spike asking him for a few quid for the fare. Spike stood on the pavement and watched the car pull away and disappear into the night. Maybe he'd misjudged Ilona.  
  
He rode the underground with the late night revellers, re-familiarizing himself with the names of the stations, following the comfortingly regular coloured lines of the map on the opposite wall. They'd built new stations since he was last here with Dru – whole new lines. What the hell was a Canary Wharf anyway? But rattling along on the District Line, nothing had changed. The scents were the same – the smell of ozone and age-old dirt, of too much humanity in too small a space, anger and frustration mixed with the late night smell of alcohol and perfume and the drunk in the corner's spilt take-away. A pair of girls, slightly the worse for drink, giggled behind their hands and threw him flirtatious glances. He winced. It had always been good hunting down here in the old days with Dru. Things really hadn't changed. His thoughts were interrupted as the train lurched to a halt at a station. Sloane Square. His stop. The two girls looked distinctly disappointed as he got down from the train.  
  
He wandered along the Kings Road, disconcerted by its unfamiliarity, bemused by the expensive designer shops that had replaced the shabby boutiques of...hell, forty years ago. Even so, he was surprised at the strength of the memories. He and Dru had come here during Dru's hippy phase. She's fitted in real well back then, with everyone stoned out of their minds half the time, and there had been easy pickings amidst the free love and the even freer use of pot. He caught a reflection of someone in a shop window – a girl, strolling confidently along the almost deserted street, hair in a swinging black bob. A sudden searing flash of memory hit him, of another girl with a smooth black bob, sobbing and pleading for her life as he and Dru... He swallowed down the bile in his throat, gritted his teeth and strode on. Maybe coming home wasn't all it was cracked up to be.  
  
Just off the Kings Road was a warren of elegant terraces, their layout still familiar, but very much smarter than they had been. He walked rapidly, scanning the street names, finding the one he wanted in an area of smaller, narrower streets. Now, number 13 - he grinned - naturally. And there it was; a tall, slightly shabby house with an understated dark green front door. He climbed the flight of stone steps, took a deep breath and pressed the bell.  
  
"Have you any idea what time..." The door opened suddenly on a clearly angry watcher. "Oh. It's you." Giles frowned unhappily.  
  
"Lovely to see you too, mate." Spike grinned "Now, you gonna invite me in or what?"  
  
The room was just so Giles, more like a comfortable gentlemen's club than an actual home. Walls lined with bookcases full of dusty volumes, piles of papers and parchments on every available surface, curios everywhere. Spike was stunned to see a shiny new computer sitting in the midst of it all, until he looked closer and saw the film of dust over monitor and keyboard.  
  
"Nice place." He prowled around the room, picking up and putting down objects and books. "Next time you play the penniless librarian card, remind me to laugh in your face."  
  
"Well, it's not... it belongs to the Council. Residence for the Council Head and... ah, that would be me. Look..." Giles caught a falling Egyptian statuette that Spike had rearranged and placed too close to the edge of a shelf. "Spike...it's really rather late..."  
  
Spike snorted. "It's barely midnight."  
  
"Yes, well, maybe." A crystal ball fell to the floor with a muffled thump. "Spike!" Giles moved to stand in front of Spike and held up his hands. "Please. Sit down."  
  
Spike shrugged and sat on the worn leather sofa. "Where are the girls?"  
  
"Buffy and Dawn? Asleep."  
  
"Are they OK?"  
  
"They're fine. Buffy's fine." He reconsidered. "Dawn is somewhat distressed, but hiding it well."  
  
"And Buffy still has no memory?"  
  
"Of you? It would appear not."  
  
"And I'm sure you're breaking your heart over that." Spike snorted. "Where's Willow?"  
  
"She's with the coven, in Westbury. Dawn called her earlier today. Naturally, she's concerned. She'll be here tomorrow morning."  
  
_Dawn_ called her? Spike looked at Giles with a frown. Why didn't you call her as soon as you knew? He rubbed his eyes wearily and decided to let it go.  
  
"What happened to you?" Giles gestured to the bruises on Spike's face.  
  
"Had a bit of a run in with the git who fucked with Buffy's memory. Turns out he wasn't open to reason."  
  
"Reason? This would be the fists and fangs school of reason, I imagine?" Giles gave an exasperated sigh. "I suppose you just launched yourself into the fray? Do you ever think first?"  
  
"Oh, you know me," Spike leaned back on the sofa and gave Giles a needling grin.  
  
"Yes. I think I probably do."  
  
"Well, maybe that's your problem – you think too much." Spike's grin faded. "You don't know me, watcher." He sat forward suddenly, and frowned as Giles leaned back abruptly. A tingle of annoyance ran through him. "For God's sake, I don't bite - well, not any more."  
  
Giles looked at him levelly. "I know all I need to know. You're a vampire. What more do I need to know?"  
  
"And you're a watcher, which means you've got the right to sit in judgment, then, have you Ripper?" Spike smiled grimly as Giles winced. "Yeah, I know a little about you, too." He leaned back. "And naturally you had the right to help Principal Woodentop try and off me."  
  
Giles hesitated. "I... had my reasons."  
  
"Buffy being the reasons, naturally."  
  
"Your relationship with Buffy was... was becoming a problem..."  
  
"Buffy didn't think so."  
  
"She refused to see it, and so did you. Angel left her because he realized how harmful their relationship was. You, on the other hand..."  
  
"I'm not Angel. What if I had left her? What if I'd been like Angel and not been with her at the end?"  
  
"That's not the point. Besides, she sent Angel away."  
  
"She kept _me_ close!"  
  
"She..." Giles removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing wearily. "Look, Spike, I'm tired, you're overwrought. There's little point to this. I think it's best we leave it for now."  
  
"Overwrought? What the hell do I have to do...?" He shrugged and bit down hard on his anger. "Like you say, no bloody point." He went to stand. "I'll find a place to stay. Catch up with you tomorrow, when Red gets in."  
  
"Stay here." Giles' voice was tight, the offer reluctant.  
  
"Oh, yeah, right." Spike snorted. "Thanks for the invite, but..."   
  
"Dawn was insistent." Giles sighed. "I mean..." he relented "you're welcome to stay here, of course you are. It's just we... ah... only have the one room left... bit of a full house, you see."  
  
Spike considered and shrugged. "Whatever – don't mind where I lay my head."  
  
"It's just this room – well, it's... ah..." Giles gave an embarrassed cough.  
  
"Let me guess." Spike raised an eyebrow. "Basement, right?"  
  
"Ah... well, yes. It's quite comfortable, really. And nowhere near a Hellmouth, so we won't be risking your delicate sanity."  
  
"Chains?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"Any chains?"  
  
"No, of course not."  
  
"OK." Spike frowned in thought. "Best if I stay out of the way tomorrow – out of Buffy's way at least."  
  
"I think that's wise." Giles nodded in agreement. "Buffy feels she is here at my request, to help with the new Council. I thought of taking her over to meet some of the new Watchers tomorrow. I'll leave Andrew here. Damn boy is just about exploding with the effort of keeping quiet about all of this. You'll have some company."  
  
"Oh, cheers." Spike grimaced.  
  
"You're welcome. Let's discuss things when Willow arrives. We can think about where to go from there."  
  
Resisting the urge to ask what exactly needed thinking about, Spike nodded curtly. "Right." He stood up. "Show the cellar-dweller to his room then. It does have a minibar, I assume?"  
  
"Ah... not exactly."  
  
"Right." Spike picked up a bottle of decent-looking brandy sitting on a table by the door and hid it under his duster. "So, I suppose room service is out of the question, then?"  
  
"You're getting a room. Service is not included." Giles lead Spike through the kitchen and opened a door. "Down there."  
  
Spike glanced down the stairs. "Home from home."  
  
"There's a door in the far wall that opens into the yard, should you need it." Giles stood aside to let Spike past. "Have you... ah... everything you need?"  
  
"Perfect host, aren't we?" Spike looked around the cellar, shaking his head.  
  
"You have no luggage?"  
  
"Kind of got left behind, what with one thing and another."  
  
"Then you have no pyjamas. Oh." Giles was obviously struggling. "Well, I suppose..."  
  
"Never wear them. Your flannels are safe from contamination." He took the brandy from under his duster and showed it to Giles. "Have everything I need. Chin chin." He uncorked the tear-shaped bottle and raised to his lips.  
  
Giles spluttered. "That is a very fine Courvoisier Imperial, not cheap rubbing alcohol!"  
  
"Not half bad, for all that." Spike looked at the bottle appreciatively, and then held it out to Giles. "Care for a swig? Go on, let your hair down. Unfreeze that stiff upper lip of yours. You might even enjoy it."  
  
Giles looked at him coldly. "Goodnight, Spike." He closed the kitchen door behind him.  
  
Spike sighed and re-corked the cognac. He sat down on the camp bed and looked around at the bare, whitewashed walls and worn concrete floor. Someone, he had to assume Dawn, had put a colourful rug on the floor and a small vase of cheerful yellow tulips on a table next to the bed. He smiled and reached out to touch a soft petal. Yellow tulips. He gave a short laugh. Of course, Dawn was hardly likely to know the Victorian language of flowers, but "hopeless love" was an unlucky choice. His smile faded. Somehow, he was beginning to get the feeling that things weren't going to be as straightforward as he'd hoped. But then, when it came to Buffy, when were they ever? He stood up and wandered over to the door to the yard, opened it and took a deep breath of the cool night air rich with a thousand scents, familiar and unfamiliar, homely and exotic. He glanced back at the cot, then up at the moon breaking through the clouds. Closing the door behind him quietly, he let himself into the yard, climbed the high brick wall and disappeared into the night.


	7. Seven

Spike woke the next day with the distinct feeling that he was being watched. It didn't exactly tax his vampire senses to figure out it was Andrew hovering with almost palpable anticipation at the top of the cellar steps. Spike lay still and kept his eyes closed. There was a heavy sigh and the sound of the cellar door closing. Spike smiled, pulled the blankets closer around his ears and went back to sleep.

The next time he woke, it was to the metallic smell of blood and the sound of rustling. "Hands off my money." He opened his eyes to a startled Dawn, busy counting the pile of notes on the table.

"Where did you get all this from?"

"Went down the World's End last night."

"Appropriate." Dawn snorted.

"There's a nice little demon gambling club down there, been there years. Did quite well as it happens, and they play for coin of the realm over here, not moggies."

"Moggies? _Kittens?_ No, don't even..." Dawn held up her hand. "Here. I brought you some breakfast." She pointed to a mug on the table, the source of the strong smell of blood, and sat on the edge of the bed.

"You didn't have to do that." Spike sat up, the sheet falling away from his chest.

Dawn blushed and tried not to gawp. "Oh... um... it's OK."

Spike smiled ruefully, picked up his t-shirt and shrugged it on. "So – where's the rest of the gang?"

"Giles took Buffy over to the Council." Dawn recovered her calm. "He's gonna leave her there and come back in an hour or so. Willow should be here by then, so we can get this mess sorted out."

The door to the cellar flew open. "Spike!" Andrew couldn't have looked happier. "You're awake!"

Dawn winced. "But sadly, he left Andrew."

Spike grabbed the sheet and pulled it up over his chest nervously. Andrew sauntered across the room with studied cool, made to sit next to Dawn, misjudged the height of the bed and fell backwards, banging his head on the wall with a yelp.

Dawn rolled her eyes. "I'll leave you to it. Gotta go straighten out Willow's room."

"You sure you don't need help?" Spike jerked his head at Andrew who was whimpering quietly and rubbing his head.

"No! Please! Keep him from under my feet!" Dawn stood up quickly. "OK - so. Upstairs when you're ready?" She stopped at the door and grinned mischievously at Spike. "You boys have fun, now."

Spike shook his head, frowned at Andrew, then picked up the mug and took a sip of the rapidly cooling blood. Andrew watched curiously. "What does it taste like?"

Spike sighed. "More or less what it smells like. Kind of salty and metallic."

"Pennies." Andrew pulled a face. "Yeww. How can you drink that stuff?"

"Well... vampire?"

"Oh, yes. Vampire." Andrew narrowed his eyes and nodded wisely "I know of the _vampyr_..."

"Please don't." Spike frowned at him. "Actually, it's not so bad. You can add things that help. Bit of Burbur weed's good. Weetabix gives it a bit of texture. End of the day though, it's only pigs blood. Not much you can do about that."

"Pig, huh?" A memory surfaced. _That'll do, pig!_ Andrew shuddered and resolutely put the thought aside. "Does it taste better... you know... direct?"

"I wouldn't know. I've never bitten a pig." Spike held the mug out to him. "Wanna try?"

Andrew blanched visibly. "N-no. Thank you. I've already eaten."

Spike shrugged and emptied the mug in one long swallow. "OK – well, I need to get dressed now." He raised an eyebrow at Andrew pointedly.

"Right. That sounds like a very good plan." Andrew nodded wisely. "It would probably be best not to face this trouserless."

Spike waited. Andrew smiled benignly. Spike sighed. "You know, some things a guy's just gotta do alone."

"Oh! Right. Got it. You're a loner... you walk alone..."

"I _dress _alone."

"No problem, brother. You're a troubled hero."

"Andrew..."

"Creature of the night. El creatro del noche."

"Please stop."

"Living by his own rules. Unafraid of anything or anyone..."

"You know, I _will_ bite."

"The panther prowling the dark, mean streets..."

"Will you just _bugger off_ and let me get dressed!" Spike growled in exasperation.

"Oh! Right!" Andrew stood up quickly. "You sure there's nothing..." He looked vaguely around the room.

"Just go before I have to kill you."

"Oh, you don't mean..." Andrew gave a disbelieving smile, which quickly faltered at the sudden flash of feral yellow in Spike's eyes. Seriously unnerved, Andrew opened his mouth to speak, decided against it, smiled weakly and left Spike alone.

Spike grinned. Hated scaring the boy, but... _hell, what was he thinking?_ Loved scaring the boy. Good to know he still had the big bad touch. He frowned. Never know when he might need it.

_xxxxxx_

When Spike finally made his way to Giles' sitting room, he found Willow standing alone, leafing through a small, leather-bound notebook. She looked up as Spike came into the room, put the book down, and smiled nervously. "Hey."

"Hey." Spike paused. She looked pale, he thought, and even thinner, if that were possible. Her eyes still shone with intelligence and that strange, slight otherworldliness that dabbling in the magicks brought, but they were ringed with dark shadows. Spike frowned. All was not well in Red's world. "Thought you were whooping it up in Rio with Kennedy?" he said eventually.

Willow looked away. "Not so much with the whooping – at least, not together. Kind of didn't work out."

"I'm sorry."

"Me too." She shrugged. "Turns out I'm a one girl girl. Not ready for the moving on thing. You know?"

"Yeah. I know. Well, apart from the being a girl bit."

Willow gave him a lopsided smile. "You look well – I mean for someone who went all 'pillar of flame'."

"Pfht. Nothing to it. Apart from the skin and muscle burning away from the bone and the melting eyeballs. That stung a bit." He looked at her, head tilted. "But you don't look so good."

She gave a snort of laughter. "Oh, thanks. Crush my girlish confidence under your size nine boots, why don't you?" She sighed. "Just kind of tired. Been working with the coven and all. Turns out the inner goddess is pretty demanding."

"They treating you right?"

"They're wonderful." She gave a soft smile. "It's not them. There's so much to learn, you know? More I learn the more I see how much there is out there, and what I know is just touching on the true magicks." There was a fire of enthusiasm in her eyes that touched on obsession. "I need to know." She gave a helpless shrug. Spike sincerely hoped that Giles and the others saw how narrow was the knife edge that Willow walked, how easily she could slip back into addiction. Given past experience, he had to wonder.

Dawn appeared in the doorway with a tray. "Hey, guys, you'll never guess! Giles had marshmallows!" She put the tray down and handed out the hot chocolate. "There's hope for him yet!"

"Where's the boy?" Spike looked nervously at the open door.

"Oh, I sent him for marshmallows." Dawn looked at him over the rim of her mug, smiling innocently.

"But you already have marshmallows." Willow gave a puzzled frown.

Spike grinned at Dawn conspiratorially. "You can never have enough marshmallows."

_xxxxxx_

A little later, Giles joined the others. The atmosphere in the sitting room was tense. Andrew was persuaded to go and collect lunchtime pizza on the promise that nothing important would be discussed while he was away.

"Right." Dawn turned to Willow as soon as she heard the front door close. "Where have Buffy's memories gone and how do we get them back?"

Willow sat forward with a sigh. "They've not gone, exactly. I mean, memories are kind of hard-wired in the brain – you can't actually get rid of them. Well, not without actually getting rid of the brain and that would be icky... and just... _wrong_."

"Well, what happened?"

"OK – you have two basic spells. The easy one uses Lethe's Bramble and the crystal and is pretty non-specific and honestly it's sort of... amateur." Willow blushed. "And more often than not it messes up. Then there's the clever way, and whoever did this was clever. If you're good enough you can sort of selectively deprogram, undo some of the links to specific bits. The memories are still there, you just don't have access to them."

"Well, that's good." Dawn smiled with relief. "So we can put it right!"

"Umm... did I mention 'good news, bad news' situation here?" Willow frowned. "Bad news is – it's kinda more straightforward to do the disconnecting thing – you just find your focus and follow it along, snip-snipping as you go. But reversing it – remaking all the missing connections... that's not so easy. You've got to find them and get them all back in the right places or... whoops! Instant memory mush. At least," she gave a self-depreciating grin, "that's what we can make out from the manuscripts. There's no actual record of anyone trying to do it. Oh, except that once..."

"And?"

"Umm... let's just say it wasn't a success. To do the reconnecting you have to sort of get inside the other person's mind. Thing is – the person who tried to undo the spell never got out again. Not to the good."

"Oh." Dawn's face fell.

"Oh, but the witch who did this? Really low level. I mean this is the girl who used rosemary instead of marjoram in a love spell!" Willow laughed. Everyone else looked at her blankly. "... it's a... it's just if you used _rosemary_ it would..." She grimaced. "Sorry, witchy type joke."

"But you're, like, super-witch! You could do it! You could put it all back and no brain mush!" Dawn turned pleading eyes towards her. "Willow?"

Willow frowned unhappily. "I don't know, Dawnie. Messing with people's minds. I... my history's not so good..."

Dawn turned to Giles. "You tell her! Tell her she has to do it!"

Giles shook his head and sighed. "I wouldn't presume to tell Willow what to do. What you are asking is fraught with difficulties. If anything goes wrong, the consequences simply do not bear thinking about." He took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Besides, I'm not altogether convinced that giving Buffy back those... particular memories... is the right thing to do."

"What?" Dawn looked at him in disbelief.

"Think about it." Giles frowned. "Remember how she was. All that she went through. Look at how she is now."

Dawn frowned in puzzlement. "How she is now?"

"She's..." Giles hesitated.

"Normal." Spike's voice was bitter. They all turned to look at him. He sat slumped in his chair, disregarded, head bent, staring at the floor. "He means she's got no memory of me – of us. Way it should be. She's not in love with the evil undead anymore." Giles winced as Spike looked over at him. "That's right, isn't it, _Rupert_?"

Dawn looked at Giles in horror. "But... you can't just..." She looked back at Spike. "Spike! Tell him! She loves you!"

"No she doesn't. She doesn't know me." Spike's eyes were locked with Giles'. "And she's better off without me, right?" His voice was brittle with hurt.

"You have to see that your relationship was hardly healthy – for either of you." Giles looked away. "You know that the two of you have no future. You are a vampire. You will be as you are for the rest of her mortal life. She will age..."

"Don't you think I fucking well know that?"

"Yet still you're here." Giles' voice was hard.

"Giles!" Willow gasped.

"Well, guess what?" Spike glared at Giles. "You're gonna have to get used to it."

"We need to do what is best for Buffy."

"And that's _your_ call?"

"It's a call _someone_ has to make." Giles sat down, and pressed his fingers to his temples. "Look. This isn't helping. Given the circumstances I propose that we don't just rush into anything. In my opinion it would be better to wait, to see what transpires, and to give Willow a chance to look into this further."

"Wait and see." Spike stood up, fists clenched. "You really are a watcher, aren't you?" He glared back at Giles' steady gaze. Annoying as it was – and it was bloody annoying – Giles had a point. He bit down on his anger and frustration and shrugged. "I need a fag." He growled and walked out of the room.

Dawn turned to Giles, eyes flashing with anger. "Well, you handled _that_ well."

"Dawn, I have Buffy's best interests at heart." Giles pinched the bridge of his nose.

"And what about Spike?"

"What about him?"

"Don't you even care what this is like for him?"

"Frankly?" Giles looked up at her. "No."

Dawn felt tears of frustration prick her eyes. "Then you're an idiot." She turned and ran from the room.

_xxxxxx_

She found him sitting in the shade at the bottom of the basement steps, cigarette in hand, and sat down next to him with a sigh. "Can I have one of those?"

He raised an eyebrow at her. "Since when did you smoke?"

"I don't. Just kinda feel now might be a good time to start."

"Never is a good time to start. If sis ever found out..." He frowned and looked away.

"Are you OK?"

He drew hard on his cigarette, shrugging.

"Giles is an idiot."

"No, he's not. He's so far up his own arse he can see the back of his own teeth sometimes, but he's not an idiot." He grimaced and looked at the cigarette. "You know, I gave these up because Buffy couldn't stand the taste. Turns out neither can I anymore." He ground it out beneath his boot. "He's right. No point in rushing into anything, much as it goes against the grain."

"So, you'll stay? You'll wait?"

"Dawn..."

"Spike, promise me you won't go away."

A part of him wanted to do just that – go. All in all he was getting bloody tired of bouncing back time after time when the Fates once again screwed with his life. Maybe he'd go back to LA and get his kicks annoying the hell out of Angel. Or maybe just travel – see what few bits of the world he hadn't seen yet, put the whole bloody lot of them behind him. Forget about Buffy and the never-ending complications of it all, and go back to simpler times, when it was all about the fists and fangs and the call of the blood.

He turned to look at Dawn, at her unhappy face and beseeching eyes. _Oh, bloody hell! _What was it about the Summers women that he couldn't refuse them one damn thing?

"Not going anywhere, pet." He was rewarded with a smile that tugged at his heart. "Besides, the watcher wants me gone – which is good enough reason for me to stay."

Who was he kidding anyway? He was never going anywhere, because fool that he was, any hope was better than no hope at all right now. And she'd loved him, and those few days were the best of his whole existence and he wasn't giving up on that. He sighed as Dawn leaned against him. _Just call me rubber ball man._

"Guys? The pizza's arrived." Willow called from the basement. "And so has Buffy." She added nervously.


	8. Eight

Buffy sat down on the sofa opposite Willow with a happy sigh. "Ooh! Pizza! You know, whoever invented pizza should have a shrine built to them. Several shrines. In several countries. Maybe made of cheese!" She picked up a large slice, skilfully scooping dripping cheese and olives back onto the base. "You should see the new Watchers!" She rolled her eyes at Willow. "_Very_ cute. Not nearly as old and dusty as the last lot..." she glanced guiltily at Giles and stumbled on blindly "...seemed to be... until you got to know them, naturally."

"Oh, don't worry about me. I'll just sit here and moulder quietly." Giles gave her a pained look.

"And the new Council offices are very nifty. I think whoever was responsible for them did an amazing job." Buffy smiled innocently at Giles.

"Stop trying to appease me. It won't work." Giles gave a self-depreciating smile. "Actually, I am rather proud of them. Did you see the new library?"

"Library?"

"Yes, library. The clue was in the large number of books." Giles gave a despairing sigh at Buffy's blank look. "The training room? No? What exactly did young Fairfax show you?"

"The coffee room. You have a very fine coffee room. It has... coffee... and chairs. Oh, and this weeks _Hello _magazine. Jude Law was in it."

"There are times when I despair..." Giles raised his eyes heavenward.

Buffy grinned and took a bite of pizza. "Mmm. Fairfax was very nice. Oxford man, you know. He told me..." she paused. "What?" She followed Willow's anxious gaze to the doorway. Spike was standing watching her quietly. There was stunned silence. "What the...?" She frowned at Dawn who was hovering uncertainly next to Spike. "I hope you have a good excuse for this."

"I..." Dawn twisted her hands helplessly. "He..."

"Spike, right?" Buffy turned her frown back toward Spike. "OK – convince me why I shouldn't just dust you here and now."

Spike leaned against the doorframe and folded his arms. "Because I can be useful."

"Useful." Buffy considered. "Nope. Try harder."

"Seems to me it wouldn't hurt to have one of the enemy on your side – bit of inside information."

"You're kidding, right?"

"Do I look like I'm kidding?" He nodded toward Giles. "The watcher there knows me, right, Rupert? If you don't want it – fine. No hard feelings. I'll go out that door and you won't see me again."

"So you're offering to help us work against your kind, huh?" Buffy snorted. "Yay for the vampire loyalty. And what do you get out of this?"

"A warm and fuzzy feeling inside?"

"Yeah, right." Buffy rolled her eyes.

"Free blood and lodgings and a 'get out of being staked free' card. Bloody world is crawlin' with slayers. Bloke's hardly got a fighting chance any more."

"Why doesn't that ring true?"

"Because you've got a nasty, suspicious mind?"

"Giles, do you want his help or shall I just stake him now?" Buffy kept eye contact with Spike.

"I... ah...I'm sure he will have his uses. We know something of his long and... _interesting_ history."

"Can we trust him?" Buffy narrowed her eyes at Spike suspiciously.

"I think as long as we have what he wants, he'll be amenable."

"But he misbehaves I get to stake him, right?"

Spike snorted. "Yeah, right."

"Pardon me? You snorted?"

"You honestly think you're up to it?" Spike smirked, tongue against teeth.

"Giles, can I stake him anyway? Please?"

"Buffy..." Giles sighed.

"Oh, OK." Buffy pouted, then frowned at Spike. "Is Angel behind this?"

"Angel? No." Spike matched her frown. "That ponce doesn't tell me what to do."

"Because if this is another of his little plans to keep tabs on me..."

"This has nothing to do with Angel. Look, forget it. Just thought the Watchers might be interested in a bit of mutual give and take." Spike pushed himself away from the door frame with a shrug. "You're not interested – that's fine by me." He turned to go. "I've got better things to do."

"No – OK, wait." Buffy looked over at Giles. "I guess this isn't up to me. If he wants to help the Council, it's your call."

There was a long pause. "Yes. Why not? The council has worked with demons in the past to good effect; although it has to be said, never with a vampire. But there is, as the saying goes, a first time for everything."

"So – what? We're gonna train him as the first vampire Vampire slayer?"

"No." Giles sighed. "Given how long he has been plaguing the earth, I'm sure he has picked up a knowledge of demon lore and language we will find most useful."

"Hey! 'He' is standing right here." Spike frowned at Giles. "You're not turning me into a bloody boring librarian! Rather take my chances out there."

"OK. You know what I think your first duty for the good guys should be?" Buffy turned to Spike. "Cannon fodder. I need a sparring partner. And I am so gonna kick your ass."

_xxxxxx_

__

There was a brief argument over where Spike was to stay – Buffy belonging to the "he stays in this house over my dead body" school of thought. If she had any suspicions about the eagerness of her friends to have him living in the basement, she didn't show it. Giles' argument that "you keep your friends close and your potential enemies closer" helped win her over eventually, and Spike was formally part of the household.

He escaped back to the basement as soon as he could, and stretched himself out on the bed, staring at the ceiling, resolutely refusing to think about what that little session had cost him. He was still lying there later when Dawn brought him another mug of blood.

"Spike? Are you OK?"

"Not now, nibblet." He kept his eyes fixed on the ceiling, his voice level.

Dawn bit her lip. "Spike?"

He closed his eyes briefly and gave a small shake of the head. Dawn sighed, put down the mug and left him.

_xxxxxx_

Buffy was waiting in the kitchen for Dawn as she came back up the cellar steps. "So, you wanna tell me the real reason he followed us here from Rome?"

"Jeez, Buffy!" Dawn lept guiltily at the sound of her voice. "Don't do that!"

"Well?" Buffy folded her arms. "Last I saw him, you and he looked pretty friendly on the sofa back in Rome. And suddenly, here he is. Co-incidence?"

"No..." Dawn struggled for an excuse. "I told him why we were coming back to England... about the new Council. I guess he just thought..." her voice trailed away.

"And this has nothing to do with you?"

"With me?" Dawn gave her a puzzled frown. "Why would it have... Oh! You mean... you think... me and _Spike_...?" Dawn looked at Buffy incredulously. "No!"

"Well, he's got that whole cool thing going on. But it's not. Cool, I mean. Vampires are not crush material."

"A _crush_?"

"Look, Dawnie..."

"I don't have a crush, OK? Buffy, I'm eighteen! I don't do crushes! He's, I dunno, not like the rest. I got to know him a little in Rome and I like him is all. Friends. OK?"

"No. Not OK. He's a vampire, Dawn."

"Really? Darn – and I thought the whole drinking blood and avoiding the sun thing was some sort of health kick." Dawn took a deep breath and let it out on a sigh. "Buffy, I know what I'm doing. Trust me on this one." She turned away.

_Trust you?_ Buffy frowned to herself as she watched Dawn walk out of the kitchen_. Maybe. But do I trust him?_ She walked slowly over to the cellar door. She paused on the threshold, listening to the silence from below. She knew he was there, despite the silence. There was something strange about him, something different. Her slayer senses seemed especially sensitive to him, the tell-tale tingle strong, her whole body alive to his presence. She stood quietly for a long time, then quietly turned and walked away.

_xxxxxx_

He knew she was there – of course he did. He could sense her presence even through the walls and floors of the old house, the essence of her was so much part of him. He lay quietly listening to the soft sound of her breathing, and fancied he could here the steady beat of her heart, the soft rush of blood through her body – sounds as individual as a fingerprint, engraved in the core of his being. He waited quietly until she walked away then closed his eyes tightly against the pain.


	9. Nine

"How are you doing?" Dawn poked her head around the study door.

"Hey, Dawnie." Willow looked up from the heavily book-laden desk with a tired smile. "Oh, you know. Research." She stretched and yawned. "What time is it?"

"Lunchtime. Came to see if I can get you anything."

"Where are the others?"

"Buffy and Giles are preparing something alarming in the kitchen. Rumour has it it's lunch and it's called toad-in-the-hole. Andrew has taken himself off on some mystery assignation. Spike hasn't surfaced yet." Dawn frowned. "He went out again last night."

"Well, creature of the night and all. Not so surprising."

"No, I guess. It's just... he seemed kind of upset. I hate seeing him like that." She sighed unhappily. "I don't know how much longer I can keep this up."

"I know it's hard, but it's all for the best. No point in upsetting Buffy and stirring things up right now – let's just do what Giles suggests and keep it calm and wait until we know more."

"I guess." Dawn sounded less than convinced. "But Andrew is gonna explode with the effort." She peered over Willow's shoulder at the heavy tome spread on the desk. "How are you getting on?"

Willow shrugged. "I'm learning stuff. Problem is, more I learn the less I like it. I seem to be relentlessly heading towards the conclusion I'm gonna have to do something I really don't want to do."

"Like what? Dangerous stuff?"

"No, not so much dangerous, leastways not initially, just..." She shrugged. "Let's just wait, huh? I'm gonna finish going through these texts, then I think I need to go back and see the coven, get a little witchy-type advice."

"So soon? You've just got here!"

"Oh, I'll be back quicker than you can say antidisestablishmentarianism."

Dawn grinned. "I haven't a hope of saying antidisestablishmentarianism." The smile faded. "Willow, you will sort this out, won't you? It's gonna be OK?"

"Oh, Dawnie, it's going to be fine." Willow stood up and hugged Dawn. "Buffy's going to be fine." She frowned. _One way or another._ "Feel like going to see what lunch turned in to?"

"Maybe. I guess Giles didn't mean _real_ toads, did he? And holes in _what_? I mean, that's like some strange British analogy or other, isn't it?" Dawn looked at Willow worriedly.

"Hey, who knows?" Willow smiled. "The French eat frog's legs after all."

"Yeww..." Dawn grimaced. The two women made for the kitchen. "So are you gonna come along to the Council offices later? See the fun?"

"What fun?" Dawn and Willow wandered into the steam-filled kitchen. There was clearly some sort of altercation going on - a red-faced Buffy was glaring at a smirking Spike while Giles rolled his eyes in despair.

"I am so gonna kick your ass." Buffy growled at Spike.

"Not if I kick yours first." Spike grinned.

Dawn raised her eyebrows at Willow. "_That_ fun." She sighed.

_xxxxxx_

The Council training room had just about everything a slayer-in-training could ever need. There was gymnastic equipment, punch bags, a wide array of different weapons – you name it, it was there. The room was tastefully decorated, with nice, easy-clean sprung wooden floors – which Buffy had seen rather too much of in the past half hour. And here she was again, examining the wood-grain from a distance of around about a centimetre, flat on her stomach, nose pressed to the floor, with Spike pinning her down from behind. This was getting embarrassing.

"So, that was you showing them what _not_ to do, right?" She could hear the grin in his voice.

_Annoying, smug, irritating_... she gritted her teeth "Oof!" Anger gave her the edge and she pushed back, managed to unbalance him, and surged to her feet. He was up too, balanced, poised with almost dancer-like grace. He was quick, strong (well, naturally – vampire), and he had the most _annoying_ ability to read her moves, even before she's figured them herself. She wiped a stray lock of hair back from her face. Good grief! She was sweating, almost certainly red-faced with effort, and there he stood, cool as an undead cucumber, grinning and giving her the come on. _I am so gonna kick his ass_, she thought, as she launched another series of kicks. But she honestly felt she was kidding herself. It really had been too long since she trained if a stupid vampire could...

And he had her again, her arm twisted up behind her back, his arm pinning her back against him, his mouth close to her ear. "C'mon, pet. You're trying too hard. Relax a little – let it come from inside. Use those famous slayer instincts we all keep hearing about."

She stopped struggling and relaxed against him, and felt his grip loosen. "Yeah, you're probably right. You think I should be a bit more..." and suddenly she was coiled steel, whipping around, catching him off guard. A few well-aimed punches and she had him unbalanced as he blocked her. One more and he was down, flat on his back, with her straddling him, stake pressed against his chest. "..like this? And don't call me 'pet'."

"OK, love. No 'pet'." He grinned up at her.

"Well, I still say Spike wins that one on points." Dawn was leaning against the wall, arms folded.

"Oh, I don't think so." Buffy grinned down at him savagely. "I think I have the point that counts." She pushed the stake against him until he winced. "Aww... Giles, lemme stake him."

"Loathe as I am to say this, I think he's shown us at least one aspect of his usefulness. I don't think you'll find a better sparing partner." Giles stood next to Dawn.

"He's not bad." She shrugged, keeping eye contact with Spike. "For an evil undead guy."

Spike's jaw tightened as he fought back a surge of hurt. _Keep it down_. "Best you're ever gonna get, slayer." He managed to keep his tone teasing.

"Oh, in your dreams!"

He lifted his head and looked pointedly down to where Buffy's hips were straddling his. "You'd be surprised what I dream."

Buffy blushed and got quickly to her feet. "OK, so he can fight a bit." She frowned as Dawn held out a hand to Spike to help him up. "I'm sure there are plenty of other people I could spar with."

"Such as?"

"Well, there's..." Buffy hesitated. "I don't know! Maybe one of the new slayers..."

"Are you done now?" Andrew's head appeared around the door. "It's just, I need to do a bit of training..."

"Training." Buffy looked at him in disbelief. "You want to train?"

"Yes." Andrew came into the room, resplendent in pristine martial arts uniform. "I need to practise. I'm learning to follow the Tao, the way of Nature. Only thus can a practitioner be in harmony with the Universe, and himself. My Shaolin master says one cannot pay to learn this art; it is only acquired by the desire to learn, the will to discipline one's self, and devotion to practice." Andrew folded his arms and bowed. "And if I don't practice, that's fifty pounds a session wasted."

"You have a Shaolin master?" Giles raised an eyebrow.

"Well, as of a couple of hours ago. He says I show much promise." Andrew struck a pose. "I will be the black tiger. I will learn to ride the wind. And then the vampyr will fear my wrath. Oh," he looked sheepishly over at Spike, "except for Spike, or course." His face brightened. "Perhaps we could train together!"

Spike gave him a bemused frown. "Not much with the Bruce Lee."

"I could teach you."

"Oh, now that would be fun to watch!" A smile twitched the corners of Buffy's mouth. "Go for it!"

"You were the one lookin' for a sparing partner." Spike backed away from Andrew rapidly. "Besides, didn't you say you wanted me to take a look at something?" he turned to Giles.

"It could wait." Giles said hopefully.

"No, it couldn't." Spike glared at him. "Now would be a good time."

They left Andrew practising "fierce tiger leaping over wall" to Dawn's muttered comment of it looking more like "frightened kitten jumping onto a cushion" and followed Giles to the library.

_xxxxxx_

The library was an eclectic mix of ancient and modern. Dark wood book shelves lines the walls, some filled with large, dusty tomes, although many were empty. Glass fronted display cabinets housed both strange and mundane articles, arranged in no obvious order, but clearly classified by some arcane system. Against this traditional background, sleek modern desks held state-of-the-art computers.

"Oh! Books! This'll be the library, then." Buffy stated the obvious. "Do you have a fiction section?"She wandered over to the shelves andstarted reading the spines of the books. "_Bardo Thodol_... Who was she?" She looked at Giles hopefully.

"Ah, actually it's the Tibetan Book of the Dead."

"Oh! That sounds like a barrel of laughs."

"Wow! Would you look at this!" Dawn ran her hand over a monitor appreciatively. "Cool library!"

"It's coming along." Giles looked fondly at the books. "Of course we lost a good many important texts when the old Council was destroyed, but we have many items still in storage, and we are managing to source replacements in some cases."

"And computers!" Dawn sat down and called up a search engine. "Can you Google demons now?"

"As you say, computers" Giles winced. "It seems we must move with the times."

"Not short of the odd bob or two, then?" Spike prowled the library, peering into the cases and testing the locks.

"We were... well insured. And we have benefactors." Giles said carefully.

"Oh, I'll bet you have." He pointed to a carved artefact in one of the cases. "Did you buy that? Because if you did, you were done, mate. Any idiot can see it's a fake. I mean, who'd paint it green?"

"Ah... well, it was..." Giles shook his head. "About that text." He moved over to one of the desks, rummaged through a pile of manuscripts and papers and brought out a dog-eared document. "Give us the benefit of your knowledge." He held it out to Spike.

"Well, it is Fyarl. You should know, you've been one." Spike glanced at the paper.

"We know it's Fyarl. But the translation makes absolutely no sense. It's complete gobbledegook." Giles sighed heavily and sat down at one of the desks.

Spike took the document and studied it, frowning. "What dialect are you using?"

"Dialect?"

"Yeah, dialect. Fyarl's got about half a dozen."

"Call yourself scholars?" Dawn put in with a grin. "Don't you know that?"

"Clearly not." Giles said icily.

"Well, this is written in one of the Ngyisdh dialects, isn't it? So if you use the standard Fyarl it's no bloody wonder it doesn't make sense." He handed the document back to Giles.

"Ah. And do you speak this Ngyisdh dialect?" Giles asked hopefully.

"Me? No." Spike shrugged. "And you'll be lucky to find anyone who does. That branch of the family died out years ago."

"Oh." Giles looked at the document unhappily. "Well, that's rather a pity."

"Shouldn't worry. You know the Fyarl – all big with the strength, but not so much with the brainpower. It's probably just a list of stuff they want to crush or something."

"It's just... our source told us it might be of use in solving a small problem we're having." Giles frowned.

"Let me guess. This source... demon? And you paid him right?" Spike snorted. "Deserve all you get then."

"Well, you should never trust a demon." Buffy leaned against a bookshelf, arms folded, and looked directly at Spike. "I _never_ would."

Giles frowned thoughtfully. "We really could do with a reliable source. Someone with his finger on the ... ah... pulse so to speak." He looked at Spike appraisingly.

"What? Me?" Spike looked at him in disbelief. "You want me to _spy_ for you?"

"Well, you'd only need to do what comes naturally. Hang about in bars, play snooker or whatever it is that passes for socialising among you demon types. Just keep your ear to the ground; let us know of any rumblings."

Spike considered. "I'd have expenses."

"We'd naturally supply you with necessary expenses."

"_Expensive_ expenses."

"Don't push your luck."

"And no kittens." Dawn looked up from the computer monitor with a frown. "If he asks for kittens, just say no."

"OK. You're on." Spike held out his hand. "Give."

Giles gave him a pained look and took out his wallet. He picked out a few notes and laid them on Spike's outstretched palm. Spike looked at them and sneered. Giles sighed and emptied his wallet. "And I'll need receipts." He said, with no real conviction.

Spike grinned. "Right. Off to see what the low life of old London town are up to. Pip pip." He turned to go.

"I'm coming with you." Buffy stepped away from the bookcase.

Spike snorted. "You are not!"

"Am so. I want to start getting a feel for the demons round here. See what else I'm up against." She gave Spike a challenging look. "So. Like I said. I'm coming with you."

"You're the bloody slayer! How well do you think that will go down!"

"Ah, yes, but no-one here knows me yet. What better time? Next argument?"

"Giles, tell her it's a stupid idea." Spike turned to the watcher for support.

"It's a stupid idea." Giles said, with no confidence it would have the least effect on Buffy's decision.

"Cool! Let's go, demon boy." Buffy made for the door. Spike gritted his teeth and followed her.

"Oh! Me too!" Dawn stood up eagerly. With perfect orchestration everyone turned to her and delivered a perfectly synchronised "No!"

Dawn pouted. "It is so not fair! When can I go to demon bars?"

"When you're... never." Buffy turned to Giles. "Take her home. Get Willow to do a binding spell if necessary. I'm not sure I approve of the company she keeps when she's let out on her own." She flicked a glance at Spike. "OK. Let's go see what delights the night has to offer us."

_xxxxxx_

Spike followed Buffy out into the street. "So, you're gonna just stroll into a demon bar? You ever consider it might be a bit risky?"

"Well, it's not like I'll be on my own. You'll be there." Buffy shrugged.

Spike looked at her levelly. "And you trust me to protect you?"

"I..." Buffy paused. She hadn't even thought about it – it just seemed somehow natural to assume that he would. But now she did think of it... she barely knew him; she had no real idea of his motivations, no reason to believe he was less likely to turn on her than any of his kind, and, let's face it, he'd just beaten the crap out of her in the training room. She felt a rush of confusion. Despite what she'd said to Giles, she had been willing to trust him without question. She looked up at with a puzzled frown. "Well..." She shook her head to clear it. _Go with it. Put it down to slayer instinct. Just keep your eyes open..._ "You'd better, because my little sis would come after you, and possibly Giles if he can tear himself away from his books long enough." She kept her tone light, masking her sudden unease. "Oh! And I've got Mr. Pointy. Lesson the first – a slayer must always reach for her weapon." She took the stake from her pocket and twirled it expertly.

Spike drew a sharp breath at her words. _I've already got mine..._

"What?" Buffy looked at him in confusion. "I'm not gonna stake you. Leastways, not yet."

"Nothing. It's just..." he shook his head. "No matter. OK. Let's go. But when we're in the bar, you do exactly what I tell you."

"Hey, I'm not..."

"I said _exactly_."

"Do I get to put conditions on that?"

He shot her a sly grin. "No."

She frowned at him. "I'm not sure I like the sound of this." she said suspiciously.


	10. Ten

Buffy looked about herself in amazement. "Wow!"

"What 'wow'?" Spike gave her a puzzled frown.

"Well, I mean, _this_." She gestured to the bar. "It's really nice. Tasteful!" The bar was all neutral paintwork and clean steel, comfortable leather chairs and soft mood lighting. Customers sat talking quietly at polished wood tables, and soft jazz played in the background.

"Why so surprised?"

"Well, you know, Willy's bar..."

"That was Willy's choice. Just 'cause we're evil doesn't mean we haven't got taste. Besides, you've seen some of those presenters on the TV makeover shows. You're not telling me some of them aren't demons." He took her arm.

"Hey!" She frowned at him.

"You don't want to get yourself killed, you do as I say, OK?" He said quietly, guiding her across the polished wood floor to a shadowed alcove table. "Whatever you think of the décor it's still a demon bar. Sit. What are you drinking?"

"I dunno. What do the evil guys drink?" Buffy settled herself on the comfortably upholstered chair. "Surprise me."

Spike leaned down toward her with a leer. "Happy to surprise you, but maybe later. Now what do you want to drink?"

"Beer." Buffy looked up at him suspiciously.

"Look," He moved his mouth closer to her ear. "Only reason a non-demon would be in this place with a vampire is if she was a demon groupie. So - act like you're my date and we'll be OK."

"Your _what_?" Buffy said loudly. Several heads of different shapes, sizes and hues turned in her direction. She smiled weakly at them then turned back to Spike. "No taking advantage!" she hissed.

"Oh, _please_!" He turned away.

"Don't be long, honey." Buffy called after him sweetly. Spike paused in mid stride, grimaced, and then walked over to the bar.

Buffy watched him slide onto a barstool and hold up one of Giles' notes. A tall, slim, dark woman slunk gracefully up to the bar and draped herself over Spike's shoulder familiarly, pressing scarlet lips to his cheek. Buffy frowned at her. _Hey! Hands off my vampire! _She fought down a sudden and unexpected surge of annoyance. The woman whispered something to Spike, watching Buffy slyly. Spike gave her a grin and ran a hand down her back, resting it for what Buffy felt was an inordinately long time on her backside, before giving one cheek a slow squeeze. The woman gave a throaty laugh and Spike picked up his bottles of beer and sauntered back to Buffy, smiling smugly.

"And what was all that about?" Buffy said primly.

Spike handed her a bottle and swung himself into the seat next to her. "She just wondered if she could join us for supper." He took a pull on his bottle. "You being the supper, naturally." he added with a smirk.

"She _what_?" Buffy glared at the dark woman, who smiled languidly back at her.

"Vampire? You're not much more than a Happy Meal on legs to her. Only without the toy."

"Oh, nice analogy. Long as you remember you're not much more than a big pile of dust to _me._"

"Spike!" A smiling loose-skinned demon was walking towards them, arms outstretched.

"Clem?" Buffy looked at him in disbelief.

"Clem? You know Clem?" The demon gave her a broad smile. "I'm Clem's cousin! Of course given the way our families work, we're all cousins of one sort or another. The name's Zeb. And Clem and I are pretty much alike to look at, although I think I'm probably the better looking of the two." He smiled happily. "How on earth did you meet him? Last I heard he was out in a little town in California..."

"So, we got a game tonight?" Spike changed the subject rapidly. Rather not get bogged down explaining how his date met Clem in the recently deceased SunnyD.

"Oh, naturally!" Zeb rubbed his hands together. "Have to say, my dear, your boyfriend plays a mean hand of poker! But perhaps we will get the chance to win back some of our losses. Would you care to join us?"

"Poker?" Buffy gave a mock frown. "That'll be the one with Mr. Bun the Baker, right?"

Zeb chuckled and turned to Spike. "So. We'll see you later?" He smiled. "Enjoy the rest of your evening."

Buffy watched him go. "He seems nice."

"Yeah." Spike shrugged. "But he's not Clem. Just don't forget – demon."

"What is it with the British? Even the demons are polite. I'd bet they say "if you don't mind, old chap" right before they rip your throat out." Buffy rolled her eyes.

"Yeah, well we're not all uncouth colonials. Look at me. Suave, sophisticated, urbane..."

"Arrogant, annoying..."

"All part of the charm." Spike shrugged. "Old world demons might look less gung-ho than your new world types, but don't be fooled. London's an old city – the evil here, it runs deep. Might be slower to come to the boil, but when it does..." he considered. "Actually, it's kind of fun."

"Define fun. No, on second thought, don't." She shook her head with a wry smile. He grinned then looked over to the bar where the dark-haired woman and the loose-skinned demon were deep in conversation. Buffy felt a sudden tug of... _what_ exactly? She could see he was attractive. Not that she found him attractive, naturally, she added to herself quickly. But she could see the lean and hungry look might appeal to some. And then there were those really quite striking blue eyes, the whole cheekbone thing, the soft, full lower lip... She was suddenly aware of he was looking at her with a slightly puzzled expression. She looked away quickly and scanned the bar, masking her flush of embarrassment. "So, tell me who's in and what you know." She felt a stab of annoyance with herself and with him. Evil undead, remember?

Spike shrugged and cast a surreptitious glance around the bar. "Looks quiet tonight – mainly vamps. There were a couple of the more rowdy elements in last night, but they tend to use the back room."

"Back room?"

"More your kind of demon bar; big with the gloom and smoke and blood on the floor. That's where all the deals are done."

"So, we go in there, right?"

"No. We don't." He shook his head. "You wouldn't last five minutes."

"I can look after myself!" Buffy bristled.

"Not against a room full of those types. No way they'd be happy for a human to go in there – well, unless she was the bar snack..." he raised an eyebrow.

"So how are you gonna find out what's going down?"

"Well, clearly I'm not. Not with you in tow."

"So what was the point in me coming here?"

He gave her a disbelieving look. "It was your bloody idea!"

"Well, you could have said something!"

"Oh, right! Like you ever listen to what I have to say!"

"This is stupid! I'm going home. You... stay here and do your job." She got up and made her way across to the door. Spike followed and went to open the door for her. "What are you doing?" She glared at him.

"I was just..." he looked at the open door. "Oh, forget it." He let the door close, and stood in front of it. "Look, you shouldn't be wandering the streets alone. I'll come with you."

"I can look after myself." Buffy glared at him.

"I'm not saying..." he began

"I do not need your protection." she said through gritted teeth. "I don't want you with me." She pushed past him and the door swung closed. Spike turned back to the bar. Every head in the room was turned in his direction. He shrugged. "Women..." There was a general growl of agreement.

She stalked angrily along the street. He really was the most irritating, arrogant, annoying ... And what annoyed her most was that he seemed to be able to affect her so easily. What was it about him? He thought he could just flash those blue eyes at her and... she slowed her pace. They really were quite remarkably blue... _Oh, for heaven's sake!_ She quickened her pace again. _Vampire! Not attractive! _She made her way down a side street, heading in what she hoped was the right direction, too angry with herself to care.

When the big demon grabbed her, she was completely unprepared. He came from behind, remarkably silent for such a large creature, and before she had fully registered his presence she felt the knife at her throat, her arms pinned in a vice-like embrace. "Well, seems the vampire doesn't want you." A voice growled in her ear. "Never mind. If he's not hungry, I certainly am."

There was sudden grunt and the arms holding her loosened, the knife moving away from her throat. She pushed backwards, unbalancing the demon and spun around in time to see Spike, duster flying, wrestling with the demon, both hands locked around its knife arm. The demon was big - very big - and exceptionally strong. It took both of them to bring him down, to restrain him enough for Spike to drive the knife home. Even then the demon fought on, fending off the attack until suddenly and finally toppling to the ground and lying still. Buffy glanced over at Spike, breathing heavily. She was stunned at how easily they had fought together, how naturally they had synchronised their moves – how easily he'd read her. And that was the frightening bit. He could read her too well – and with a vampire, that couldn't be to the good.

"That was fun." He looked over at her with a pleased grin, only to meet a stone-faced glare.

"Are you stalking me? I told you I didn't want you with me!" Buffy's voice was harsh with anger.

"Well it's a bloody good job I was here, wasn't it, otherwise there would have been one less slayer in the world! Not that the world couldn't do with losing the odd slayer." He frowned at her. "And, no, I wasn't stalking you."

"So what? You were just passing? Out for a walk, maybe?"

"Out for a..." he paused and shrugged down his anger. "Look, this is my town, OK? You don't know it like I do. This isn't Sunnydale." He sighed. "I was watching your back, is all."

"Well, I don't want you watching my back. Believe me, the thought of a vampire at my back does not fill me with confidence." Anger at Spike was giving way to a realisation of just how close the demon had got. She could feel the sting of the knife point at her throat, smell the creature's foetid breath. She felt a rush of dizziness and turned away from Spike. "I'm fine." She moved off rapidly, trying to walk away the fear.

"You're not fine." Spike followed, keeping pace with her easily. "Don't need my finely tuned vampire senses to see that. Look at you, pale as a sheet."

Buffy snorted. "The words 'pot' and 'kettle' come to mind." Her heart was thundering in her chest, and a wave of nausea threatened to overwhelm her. She quickened her pace.

"Slow down! Buffy... Buffy!" He grabbed her arm, forced her to stop. "Stop it."

She spun around to face him, jaw set.

He sighed. "Look, it was a close call. You're the Slayer, you're not supposed to get close calls, right?"

"Life's one big close call." Her voice was grim, bitter.

"But not that close." He smiled softly and reached out to brush a stray lock of hair form her cheek. "It's OK to be scared."

She looked up at him, at the gentle compassion in his eyes. She felt the sting of tears, an almost overwhelming urge to rest her head on his chest and cry, to feel a pair of comforting arms around her, to feel _safe_. Oh, no. Not now; not hardly the time to get an attack of the feebles. Wrong time, wrong place, most definitely wrong man... _vampire_, she corrected herself; which made this sudden urge all the more worrying and strange and just _wrong_. She must be a darn sight more tired than she thought she was.

"I was scared. I'm not now. OK?" She turned away from him, and began walking blindly down the street.

He followed, easily keeping pace with her,quietly waiting.

She turned to face him with an exasperated sigh. "Will you go away? Demon dead. Buffy safe. Understand? What do you want?"

_Oh, for..._ Spike felt a surge of anger. "Well, a 'thank you for saving my life, Spike' probably wouldn't go amiss."

"My life was never in danger."

"Oh, right. So, what? You were gonna use strength of will to make the knife he had at your throat disappear?" Spike gave an exasperated sigh. "Why are you always so..." he caught himself, growled and shrugged the tension from his shoulders. "Oh, forget it." He held up a hand and turned to go. "Next time I won't bother interfering. Let the bugger kill you. Why the hell should I care?"

"Spike!" She called after him. "Wait."

He stopped and turned back with a sigh. "What?"

"You... your hand." She gestured. "You've cut your hand." She walked over to him hesitantly and took his hand in hers, turning the palm upwards.

Spike looked at the gash slicing across the centre of his palm. "Bloody knife." He mumbled. Funnily enough, he hadn't noticed it before, but now she'd pointed it out it was beginning to sting.

"Here." She took the silk scarf from around her neck and began to wrap it tightly around his palm.

He watched her concentrate on her task, a small frown creasing her forehead. "You'll never get the blood out. Take it from someone who knows a bit about blood." He hardly trusted his voice. This was the first time she'd touched him in anything other than anger since The Immortal's spell. The touch of her hand on his set his whole body yearning for her, filled his mind with a yammering need that wiped out rational thought.

She smiled and gave a small shrug. "Can't have you bleeding to death." She finished tying the scarf. "There." She held his hand a moment longer, staring at the scarf. "Spike?"

"Buffy?"

She took a deep breath and looked up at him, eyes luminous in the moonlight. "Thank you."

They stood hand in hand, eyes locked. The cool strength of his fingers in hers was comforting, half-familiar, and for a moment in the moonlight she was lost in the shadows of his eyes, in the feel of his hand, in the stirring of emotions that slipped through her mind when she tried to hold on to them – smoke-faint but resonant. She dropped his hand and looked away in confusion.

He saw the flush of blood rush to her cheeks, the puzzled frown, and felt the faint beginnings of hope. "You know you're going the wrong way, don't you?" he said with a crooked smile.

"It's not the wrong way." She looked around. "It's just a different way."

"Right." He hesitated. "You want to show me your different way?"

She looked up at him and smiled hesitantly. "OK." She looked back at the demon. "Do we just leave him there?"

"Well, we aren't about to take him with us. He'll disappear, just like all the dead ones in Sunnydale did. Never quite figured out where they go, though."

"One of life's great mysteries." She gave him a shy half-smile. "Like why a two pound box of chocolates makes you put on five pounds."

"You ate a two pound box of chocolates?"

"What can I say? He stood me up."

"Did it help?"

"Yeah." She smiled at him. "Until I threw up."

"Nice image. Thanks for sharing."

"You're welcome."

They walked home quietly through the dark street, each of them lost in their thoughts.


	11. Eleven

"A _date_?" Dawn looked at Buffy open mouthed. "He asked you out on a _date_?"

"Hey! Don't sound so surprised! I'll have you know I'm a frisky vixen!"

"You're not going, are you?"

"Well…"

"He's a watcher!"

"A young, hot watcher. With an earring. It's not like I'm thinking of going on a date with Giles or anything."

"Well, maybe, but won't it be like dating your teacher?"

"No!" Buffy pouted "Giles likes him."

"Huh. Well, he would." Dawn folded her arms and snorted.

"Why are you so down on him? It's not like you've ever met him."

"It's just… he doesn't sound like your type."

"And my type is?" Buffy raised a quizzical eyebrow.

"Oh! Well… I dunno." Dawn ended lamely.

"Nope, me neither. So I'm going to start my exhaustive survey of types with English, educated, employed and not evil. OK? Now, you gonna help me chose something to wear?"

"Tweed." Dawn followed Buffy out of the kitchen.

"Tweed?"

"English upper class, right? He's bound to go for tweed. Maybe with one of those scarves that Queen Elizabeth wears – with the horsy things all over it. Oh! And Wellington boots."

"I think it's time we worked on your stereotypes." Buffy shook her head. "I was thinking more the little lacy, red number."

"Well, that'll be nice…" Dawn gave her an evil grin. "…if you're going for hooker."

_xxxxxx_

"It'll have to do." Buffy frowned at her reflection in the hall mirror, nervously smoothing her hair.

"You look fine." Dawn examined her critically. "But I don't know why you are so worried. He probably doesn't get out much, anyway. Too busy watchering. He'd probably be impressed if you wore a sack."

"Will you stop!" Buffy gave an exasperated sigh. "Now, where's my bag? Oh! Study! Look, I'm sure he's a very nice man and…oh!" She almost ran into Spike as he tried to leave the study just as she tried to enter. "Spike!" She gave him an embarrassed smile.

"You look nice." He smiled, and thrust his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

"Oh, thanks!" She looked down at her blouse. "You don't think maybe too tarty?"

"Hardly at all. Heard you got a date."

"Yes. Why does everyone find that so surprising?"

"I don't."

"Oh. You should try it. The going out thing, I mean. I mean, there's that girl at the bar." _The cheap-looking one_, she found herself thinking ungraciously.

"Oh, yeah, right. There's always girls who like the look - bad boy, you know."

"Yeah, I can see that." She looked up at him with an awkward smile.

He drew a breath. "You should go. You don't wanna be late."

"No. Right. I… erm… yes…" She bent down to pick up her bag. "See you both later, maybe."

"Yeah." Spike watched the front door close behind her. "Later."

Dawn came to stand next to him. "You OK?"

He gave a wry smile. "Just got the strongest sense of _déjà vu_. Have you spoken to Xander lately? He hasn't recently met a woman with a hint of demon and a knife, has he?"

"It'll never work out, you know. Buffy and the watcher, I mean." She added quickly as Spike raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah. Can't see it myself. He'll just be a younger version of Giles."

"And how dull would that be? He'll probably just want to talk books all night."

"Buffy'd love that." He paused, then went on casually. "You… erm… heard from Willow yet?"

"No, but she only went down there a week or so ago. Give her time. She wants to get it right." Dawn rested her hand on his arm. "She'll do this. She'll figure it out." She gave him her best puppy dog eyes. "So. You going out, too?"

Spike looked at the door. There was the temptation… no. Leave them alone. "Nah. Think I'll have a night in with my number one girl."

Dawn glowed. "Yeah? Neat! I vote film and popcorn and the comfy sofa."

"OK. But nothing soppy. No 'love conquers all' crap."

"Aww…"

"Hey! Big bad, here! You wanna ruin my reputation completely?"

"What reputation? Said it before – _I'm_ badder than you are!"

"Are not!" He followed her into the kitchen. "You'd better watch yourself, missy, or I'll make you watch _Titanic_."

"You wouldn't!"

Spike grinned. "_Now_ who's bad?"

_xxxxxx_

Buffy tiptoed up to the kitchen window quietly. It wasn't particularly late, but she needed to know who was lying in wait – she really didn't think she wanted the third degree on the date from Dawn. The kitchen light was on, but it was Spike sitting at the kitchen table, alone and quietly reading. She watched him turn a page, a thoughtful frown creasing his forehead. She could see the title of the book – an anthology of poetry. He really was big with the surprising. The past few days he had just quietly been there, naturally at her side - helping Giles in the Council library, translating texts and classifying artefacts and generally riling Giles as only he seemed able, teaching some basic moves to the young slayers - and judging by the giggling and blushing from some of them, making a few conquests… She frowned. _Need to have a word with them about that._ He'd even cooked for them one night, much to her bemusement. Aided and abetted by Andrew, egged on by a giggling Dawn, the result had been pretty much inedible, but he'd tried, and he'd managed to resist killing Andrew, despite what sounded like pretty strong provocation. It had taken hours to get the stains off the walls.

She could only assume he was still getting his evil on with his friends down at the demon bar every night, because this really couldn't be normal behaviour given the circumstances. _Vampire evil, vampire not to be trusted, only good vampire is a dusty vampire_ - all the slayer certainties. But not, it seemed, for him. Within a few days he was fitting seamlessly into their lives – into her life – as if he'd always been there. It was disconcerting, the easy way he was around her, the way he seemed to be able to read and understand her so well. But then it was even more disconcerting the way _she_ was around _him_. And how confusing was all this getting?

He looked up and caught her watching him. _Oh. Vampire senses._ She gave an embarrassed smiled and wiggled her fingers at him.

He watched her as she came inside, trying to pretend to himself that he wasn't checking for signs of watcher kissage, surreptitiously checking the clock and restraining a stab of triumph because it was barely eleven. Can't have been that good, then, this date. He worked on keeping his smile neutral.

"Hi!" Buffy gave him a bright smile. "You're not out doing the 'creature of the night' thing, then?"

"Nope. Thought I'd give the creaturing a miss and have a quiet night in." He put the book he was reading down on the table. "So, how was your date?"

"It was – nice." Buffy sat opposite him at the table. "He was – nice."

"Nice, huh?" Spike nodded. "Well, that's really… nice."

"Mmm." Buffy pressed her lips together, trying to suppress a smile. "We went to a very nice restaurant, and he told me all about his hobbies. He collects Star Wars memorabilia, goes to all the cons."

"Oh, right." Spike tried to look impressed. "You should introduce him to Andrew."

"They'd get on like a house on fire. Then we went for a stroll along the embankment and he walked me home. It was…" she hesitated.

"Nice?" Spike offered.

"Yeah." She rolled her eyes. "You know, I think Andrew was probably more his type! I don't think he really knew what to make of me. I'm not sure what worried him more – me not knowing what a Millennium Falcon was or me being a slayer. I think he probably needs a nice, normal Darth Vader-loving girl."

"Maybe one who wouldn't mind dressing up like Princess Leia."

"That would probably be a bonus."

"So – are you seeing him again?" Spike asked nonchalantly.

"I… well, maybe." She shrugged, then grinned. "He asked if I wanted to go to an all night Star Wars showing."

"The guy sure knows how to show a girl a good time."

"Well, at least he doesn't take his date to a demon bar." She caught his look. "Oh! Not that… I mean, you and me… it wasn't a date exactly… not really… strictly business… I wasn't… and…" she stumbled to an embarrassed halt as Spike raised an eyebrow. "Oh! I think I hear Dawn! I should go see her." Buffy got to her feet quickly. "Tell her… about…" she gestured vaguely. "Well, goodnight." She bolted.

Spike watched her go with a bemused smile. He shook his head and picked up his book again. He tried to concentrate on the words and the rhythm of the verse, but instead he found himself going over and over the conversation with Buffy, looking for clues, hints, _anything_ to keep the hope alive. He threw the book down with a disgusted snort. _Bloody hell! How old are you? Will you stop with the lovesick teenager routine?_ He stood up and made for the cellar steps.

Later, when Buffy came back to the kitchen to make hot chocolate she felt a sharp stab of disappointment to find him gone. She walked slowly over to the cellar steps, and peered down into the basement. Her eyes confirmed what her senses already told her. Spike had gone out. She sighed and went over to the table and picked up his book. She looked over at the jar of chocolate. Actually, if she was being strictly honest with herself, she didn't actually want any. Taking the book with her, Buffy headed for bed.

_xxxxxx_

Spike woke to the metallic smell of pig blood. Dawn and his early morning cuppa, he thought turning over in bed, opening his eyes with a smile. "'Morning, nibblet… Oh! Buffy!" Not Dawn. He sat up quickly and looked around for his T-shirt.

"Oh! Sorry I just thought… I brought you…" Buffy stood, mug in hand, trying to look unaffected by the undeniably striking sight of a semi-naked Spike. She watched him reach down to pick up his T-shirt and felt her eyes drawn to the working of the muscles in his arms and back, the smooth planes of his chest above the rippled muscle of his stomach as he shrugged the shirt on. She froze. Something stirred in the recesses of her brain, something that answered a sudden surge of heat in the pit of her stomach. _A memory of something? A dream?_ She tried to hold on to it, to define it. _Something to do with Spike?_

"Are you OK?" Spike was looking at her in concern, T-shirt in place.

The feeling passed. "Yeah. Fine." She looked down at the mug as if she had only just noticed it. "Oh! Here."

Spike took it from her. "You didn't have to do this." He put it down carefully on the table.

She watched him, wondered at the way he seemed to feel so uncomfortable drinking in front of her. "Terms and conditions. Free blood and lodgings. Look – I don't mind. You should get it while it's warm. Really. I'm beyond getting squicked by blood, and it's not like I haven't seen you drink the stuff before."

Spike gave her a sharp look. Actually, she hadn't – not in London. "Where's the nibblet?" He asked carefully, taking a sip from the mug.

"Dawn and Andrew went to the Council with Giles. Andrew's anxious to try out his new martial arts skills on one of the new slayers and Dawn went with him because she said she needs a good laugh. I'm just lurking and avoiding following them." She bit her lip and gave Spike a worried look. "Giles has given me a dangerous and important assignment."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah. He wants me to go down to the Council cellars and help with the unpacking of the books. Good to know years of slayer training has finally come into its own."

"Dangerous stuff."

"You betcha. Might break a nail opening one of the boxes. Or maybe get a nasty paper cut. Those things sting."

"So, who are you helping with the unpacking? Your _date_ gonna be there?" Despite his best efforts, there was note of disdain in his words.

"No. Maybe." Buffy hesitated. "You wanna come with?"

Spike looked up at her in surprise. "Me?"

"Yeah." She blushed and tried to make light of it. "Might need your help. There might be… spiders or something. Or boxes to lift or… look, it was just a thought."

"No." Spike said quickly. "Happy to fight spiders for you."

"Good." Buffy thrust her hands into her jeans pockets with an embarrassed smile. "Let's go then. Shall we take the bus or use Council expenses and go for a cab - sorry - taxi?"

"Might be advisable to go for the taxi, given the lack of darkness." Spike gave her a lopsided smile.

"Oh! Yes, right. Sorry." The effect that particular smile had on her was becoming alarming. She shook herself. "Taxi it is."

"What our story today? Rare sunlight allergy or Michael Jackson?"

"I vote elephant man." Buffy grinned.

"I am not an animal! I am a human being! I...am...a man!" Spike said theatrically.

"What?" Buffy looked at him in horror. "I didn't… I mean…"

"Quote. John Merrick? The Elephant Man?"

"Oh, right." She gave him an abashed grin. "Sorry."

They looked at each other awkwardly. "I'll be up in a minute." Spike said eventually.

"In a minute?"

"I'm not exactly…" he gestured to his jeans. "Need to get dressed. 'Course if you want to stay…"

Buffy flushed violently. "To that a world of no." She retreated rapidly. "Don't forget your blanket!" She called from the top of the stairs.


	12. Twelve

They stood side by side in the semi-darkness.

Spike let out a low whistle. "This doesn't look good."

"Worse than I thought." Buffy said quietly.

"You sure you're ready for this?"

"As I'll ever be." Buffy squared her shoulders. "I'll take the big one on the left."

"You sure?" Spike frowned. "Looks kind of dangerous."

"Yeah." She kept her eyes fixed on her target. "You take the bunch over there. Watch yourself, though. They don't look too stable."

"OK." Spike nodded brusquely. "Let's do it."

There was a glint of steel in Buffy's hand. "You need these?"

"Spike glanced over at her. "Nah. You have 'em. I've got a knife."

Buffy let out a long sigh. "Guess this is it then."

"No puttin' it off any longer." Spike agreed.

They took a step forward together. "How many do you think there are down here?" Buffy asked with a sigh. She walked over to the nearest of the boxes, wielding her scissors. "And would you look at the dust? I don't suppose anyone's opened them for years – decades even. You know, if they haven't used them, they probably won't miss them. We could have a bonfire! I like bonfires."

Spike snorted. "Not a bad idea." He reached into the box he'd just opened. "Hey! Crowley! A much underestimated raving lunatic. Had a really interesting chat with him in Ceylon."

"You met Aleistair Crowley? Get out of here!" Buffy gave a snort of disbelief.

"S'true! Met him… oh, must have been '02…"

"Oh, come on! He's been dead for years – even I know that!"

"_19_02."

Buffy looked over at him open-mouthed. "_Nineteen_-oh-two? You're kidding me!"

"What? I don't look a day over 50?" He opened the book and flicked through the pages. "Crowley was visiting some mate of his in a Buddhist monastery – bloke who founded that order… what's its name… the Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn. All big with playin' with the ancient magicks. Generally hadn't a bloody clue, though. Anyways, we…" he paused. He and Dru had been meandering back through Asia after the events of the Boxer rebellion had made them crave a little time apart from Angelus and Darla. They had ripped through the village next to the monastery – killed half the population, maimed a good few of the rest and kind of put paid to the monks 'inner peace'. "We were just passing through. Sort of holiday. Anyways, we got talking. He had some interesting theories. Bright bloke – but the wickedest man alive? Not even close. I could tell you some stories…"

But Buffy was still working on the math. "You were around in _1902_? That makes you over 100 years old!"

"What can I say? I'm well preserved. Goes with the whole vampire package."

"Well, yeah, but… you got through 100 years without meeting up with a slayer? That's…" she caught Spike's sudden wince. "Oh, God… I didn't mean… I'm sorry. That was kind of… tactless." She gave him an apologetic smile. "If you'd met a slayer, you wouldn't be here now, right? And I'm glad you are because… well, spiders… and besides…" she paused. There was a long silence. He gave her a puzzled smile. "Besides…" she repeated, softly. "I… I'm just…" She blinked and looked away in confusion. "I'm just... not sure where to start in all of this… which of the boxes, I mean. Do you think there's any logical order in this chaos?" She had a theory that if she just kept talking, maybe she could get herself back under some sort of control. "I mean, maybe we should start at the top of the piles? What do you think? I'll look and see if there's any thing written on the boxes." She began to climb a pile of crates in the corner of the cellar.

"Buffy…" Spike came to stand at the bottom of the pile. "Not sure that's safe, love."

"It's OK. Slayer reflexes and all. Look. This one's got a date. April 1980. That's over twenty years ago! If they haven't looked at it in 20 years…" She reached up to take hold of the box. The pile shifted alarmingly – and moved under her feet. She tried to jump, twisting awkwardly in mid air, as the boxes tumbled around her, disturbed dust flying in a suffocating cloud. As she landed gracelessly, she felt a pair of strong arms catch and steady her. "Hell! Are you OK?" Spike held her upright. She looked into his concerned blue eyes, and time stood still. She was suddenly very aware of her hands resting against him, the texture of the soft, black T-shirt, the feel of the smooth, hard planes of his chest beneath. She looked down, and watched her hands as if in a dream as they moved slowly upwards, to his shoulders and down over the strongly defined muscles of his shoulders and upper arms. He gave a small gasp. "Buffy?" And she looked up again, her eyes dwelling on the curve of his mouth, the lines of his face, settling eventually in the cerulean depths of his eyes. Her heart beat heavily in her chest, her skin felt hot, desperate for the coolness of his, her body craving his with an intensity that took her breath away. "Spike…" She felt herself sway toward him.

"Hey, guys are you… Oh. Oops! Sorry!" A highly embarrassed Dawn was standing on the steps down to the basement, biting her lip.

Buffy dropped her hands awkwardly and moved away from Spike. "Dawn! Hi!" She brushed her hair away from her flushed cheeks. "We were just sorting… sorting books and… things…"

"Yeah. I saw." Dawn grinned. "Look, I'm really, really sorry, but we need help in the training room. It's Andrew…"

"What's he done now?" Buffy sighed heavily.

"Well, I don't think he's done any permanent damage, but…" Dawn continued doubtfully.

"S'OK. I'll come and see." Spike looked over at Buffy. "You'll be OK on your own for a while?"

"Sure!" Buffy was horribly aware that her voice was suspiciously over bright. "If I find any spiders I'll just laugh in their hairy little faces and then hide until they go away."

Spike gave her a slow smile and turned to follow Dawn up the basement steps.

Alone in the basement, Buffy wrapped her arms around herself. Well, that had been… _what exactly_? Nice? Not precisely. Scary, mind-numbing, stunning, breathtaking - any one of those… actually, she had to admit, all of those. She closed her eyes and relived the moment - the feel of him, the look in his eyes, the way he had completely overwhelmed her senses. _Oh, God!_ She groaned. _Way to go, Buffy. Way to pick your men. Vampire. Vampire slayer. Not exactly a match made in heaven._

Not that he would be the first vampire she'd… felt something for. There's been Angel, after all – and look how well that one had turned out. She smiled ruefully. But then… Spike wasn't Angel, and she wasn't sixteen any more, and, well… she had her eyes wide open and… She shook her head and walked over to the box that had been the cause of her downfall. Why was it the guys she felt attracted to - really, _really _attracted to - were vampires? Except for Jude Law, naturally - although, honestly, who knew? She sighed. Contrary, much?

The box had broken open and its contents were scattered haphazardly around it. She bent down to collect the papers together, then paused. On the top of the pile was a blue, hard-bound book with a simple printed label – "William the Bloody a.k.a. 'Spike' – a thesis by Arthur Davies". Buffy raised her eyebrows. Wow! He had books written about him! She settled herself on a packing case and began to read.

_xxxxxx_

Dawn bounced along the corridor at Spike's side doing a passable imitation of an eager puppy dog. "So, you and Buffy looked cosy!" She grinned. "I mean, almost with the smoochies from where I was standing…"

"It wasn't what it looked like."

"Well, you had your arms around her and she had her arms around you and there looked to be some kissing action on the cards to me. What was it supposed to look like?"

"She slipped! I caught her is all!" Spike gave an exasperated sigh.

"Oh, yeah. Riiiight." Dawn's grin widened. "Oh, c'mon! Getting like old times! We should tell her."

"No!" Spike stopped and turned to face her. "No. We wait." He sighed and ran a hand over his hair. "Look, it's difficult to explain. It's just – if she isn't going to remember…" he held up his hand as Dawn went to object "I said _IF_ she isn't going to remember, I don't want her to be told that she used to feel something, when she feels nothing now. Not sure I could deal with that. Maybe if she felt something first…" He frowned. "Does that make any sort of sense?"

"Yeah, I think so. Oh, but she does, Spike, she does feel something…" Dawn looked up at him appealingly. "Look, we should at least tell her about your soul…"

"No. We shouldn't. What am I going to say, pet? 'Oh, I just went to bed one night and when I woke up, whatd'ya know? I had me a soul!'?" he shook his head. "Not exactly two-a-penny, us vampires with souls are we? Too complicated. Let's just keep it simple. Loathe as I am to say it, Giles has half a point. No need to upset things. We wait for Willow."

Dawn gave a frustrated sigh. "I guess. But she does, you know," she said softly, "she does feel something for you."

"Yeah. Maybe." Spike shrugged. "Just not sure what." He turned away. "Now, what's the boy been up to?" He started to walk off toward the training room.

Dawn caught him up. "Well, you know April?"

"The little dark girl? The one who wouldn't say boo to a goose?"

"That's the one. Well, Andrew was trying to show her some move or other and… well, she's worried she may have broken something…"

"Broken? Is she OK?"

"Oh, not her! She's worried she may have broken Andrew…" Dawn opened to the training room door to the sound of whimpering. Andrew was sitting on the floor in a bloodstained _gi_, head tilted backwards, while a diminutive girl held a cloth to his bleeding nose. Dawn sighed. "See what I mean?"

_xxxxxx_

Giles was sitting at a desk in the library when Buffy found him. He looked up with a smile. "Buffy! How is it going in the…" He faltered at the boiling anger he saw in her eyes. "Buffy? What is it?"

"Have you seen this?" Buffy threw the thesis onto the desk in front of him.

Giles looked at the title. "Ah," he said eventually.

"_Ah_? Is that the best you can do? Giles, he's killed slayers. Two slayers. You didn't think maybe you should be a little concerned?"

"There was no risk. I wouldn't risk you or the others, you know that."

"No risk? You let him into our home! You let him get close to… to Dawn and to all of those young slayers…" she felt herself shaking. _To me! You let him get close to me! You let me think… feel… you let me…_ She closed her eyes tightly, fighting for control. "He's a monster. A killer. Nothing is going to change that. _Nothing_!" She glared at Giles. "I don't want him around."

"Buffy – wait…" Giles stood up as Buffy stalked away across the library.

"Get rid of him. Before I do." She called back, her voice tight with anger.

_You fool! You stupid, idiotic fool! You never – **never** – learn…_ In the corridor she stopped and felt her anger fade. _Oh, god. How could she have got it so wrong?_ She closed her eyes tightly against the tears.

_xxxxxx_

He'd come into the library by another door. He'd heard it all. Unnoticed in the shadows of the book shelves, Spike watched Buffy leave, then turned and quietly walked away.


	13. Thirteen

"You know something?" Dawn frowned down at Andrew as the training room door closed behind a tearful April. "You've scared the life out of that kid! Poor April!"

"She hit me!" Andrew whimpered.

"You told her to!" Dawn knelt down and pressed the bloodstained cloth firmly to his bleeding nose. "Jeez, Andrew she's half your height and she can't weigh above a hundred pound soaking wet! What happened to the 'black tiger' thing?"

"Ouch!" Andrew winced. "I wasn't ready! I hadn't focussed my _chi_!"

"Then there's obviously some strange, inscrutable, oriental meaning to 'OK, sock it to me, sister' that we mere mortals don't understand." Dawn gave an exasperated sigh and lifted the cloth. "Look, it's already stopped bleeding, and Spike said it isn't broken…"

"He was very gentle with my nose." He gave Dawn an accusing look.

Dawn snorted. "He's got more patience than I have."

Andrew lowered his voice and gave Dawn a conspiratorial look. "I mean, _really_… you know… what with the _blood_ and all…"

Dawn gave him a disbelieving look. "You think your _nose blood_ might have unleashed some sort of unbridled bloodlust? Eeww, Andrew!"

"I have good blood! And, you know, it's not like he hasn't bitten me before." Andrew put a hand to his neck.

"Well, yeah, but he had to be out of his skull under the influence of the First Evil's mind control badness to do it." She peered at him suspiciously. "Do you _want_ him to bite you? Because that's just _weird_."

"I didn't say that!" Andrew looked away quickly. "Do you think I'll have a scar?" He peered at himself in the training room mirror and put a tentative finger to the bridge of his nose.

"Oh, sure, a real big one. Frankensteinesque." Dawn folded her arms.

"You think?" Andrew looked worried.

"No." Dawn gave him her well-practised '_d'uh_' look.

"I wouldn't mind a small scar." Andrew ran a finger over his left eyebrow. "A little scar can be kind of sexy…"

"You won't have a scar. You're barely gonna have bruise if Spike hurries up with that ice." Dawn glanced at the clock on the wall. "Wonder where he's got to?"

"I could go look." Andrew offered.

"Nope. You stay here and try not to bleed on any soft-furnishings. Don't want you scaring any watchers." Dawn hurried over to the door. "If you feel faint, put your head between your knees, or raise your feet above your head…or whatever." She glanced back at him as she closed the door behind her and heaved a long-suffering sigh.

"Ah, Dawn." She turned to see Giles coming along the corridor toward her.

"Giles! Did you bring the ice?"

"Ice?" Giles frowned in puzzlement. "Why should I bring ice?"

"For Andrew's nose?"

"Andrew's…?" Giles looked even more bemused. "I'm sorry, but I don't seem to have the vaguest idea what you are talking about." He shook his head. "Dawn, I… ah… fear we may have a problem."

"What's that?" Dawn pointed at the book in Giles hand.

"Our problem." Giles held the thesis out to Dawn. "Buffy found it while she was unpacking."

Dawn flicked quickly through the pages. She closed her eyes briefly then looked at Giles. "Buffy saw this?"

"Saw it, read it and reacted to it." Giles sighed. "Not well, I have to say."

"I'll bet she didn't. What did she say?"

"Ah… quite a bit about his slayer killing history, rather a lot on my stupidity for letting him get close to you - ending on, I seem to recall, 'Get rid of him. Before I do.'"

Dawn groaned. "Giles, this has to stop - now. It's getting out of hand. We have to tell Buffy."

"No. We must wait. Willow is doing all she can to… to try and find a safe way out of this. I really think that if… if we try and tell Buffy what has happened without any sort of solution in place, it will do her serious harm." Giles sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Dawn, Willow will be back very soon. Please. Say nothing. Just until Willow is ready."

"Have you any idea what you're asking?"

"Please. It's in Buffy's best interests."

"And Spike's?"

"Spike's?" Giles frowned. "Ah. We should warn him to keep him out of Buffy's way, at least until…"

"Where is he?" Dawn cut him off impatiently.

"He isn't with you?"

"He went to find you – to tell you about Andrew and find some ice and…oh. Oh, God." Dawn moaned. "What if he heard you? Heard you and Buffy?"

"I… ah… I didn't see him. He may have…" Giles shrugged helplessly.

Dawn bit her lip. "OK. Look – you find Buffy, make sure she's OK, and I'll go after Spike. It's not properly dark yet, so he can't have gone far. Perhaps if he got a taxi the guy at the desk saw him. All else fails, I'll start back at home." She looked at Giles unhappily. "What a mess." She turned to go. "I just hope you're right about all of this."

Spike came slowly down the cellar steps and glanced over at her. There was no emotion in his eyes, just a cold calmness that scared her.

"Dawnie." He put the black leather sports bag he was carrying down next to the bed. "How's it goin'?"

"Spike… what are you doing?" Dawn watched with a puzzled frown as he began to pack his few possessions into the bag.

"What I should have done years ago." He picked up one of Giles' books, looked at it, shrugged and threw it into the bag. "Getting the hell away from this mess."

"You're running away?"

"Nope, I'm walking away. Whole different vibe." He rummaged in the bag and pulled out a pile of notes. He added his poker winnings from beside the bed and stuffed them resulting roll back into the bag. "Tell Giles I borrowed his secret stash of cash. Really think he should find somewhere better for his savings than under the mattress." He spoke calmly, reasonably. "And a couple of his less offensive shirts. And the odd priceless artefact – they're only gathering dust." He zipped up the bag and patted it. "Oh, and his bag." He stood up and slung the bag over his shoulder. "Second thoughts, tell him I nicked 'em. He sure as hell isn't getting' them back. What?" He shrugged at Dawn's stunned expression. "You're shocked and disappointed? Evil, remember?"

"No, I'm not…" Dawn gave a despairing shake of her head. "Spike, she didn't mean it."

"Oh, she meant it." Spike gave a brittle laugh. "And you know? She's right. All that…"he gestured at the thesis in dawn's hands, "everything I did, it's still here, inside of me. It's still part of me. I can bury it deep and try to pretend it doesn't matter, but it's not going away."

"It's not _all_ of you! You've changed…"

"Have I?" He gave her a hard look, and then turned away. "Yeah, maybe. But I'm not sure I know what I've changed into. Maybe it's time I sorted that out." He gave a weary sigh. "I'm tired, nibblet. Buffy and me…" he shook his head "it feels like we just stagger along on from one crisis to the next. Only so much a bloke can take, even a stupid, pig-headed one like me. Giles is right - she's better off out of this. I'm beginin' to think I am, too."

"You don't mean that. You wouldn't just give up." Dawn's voice caught as she struggled against her tears. "You love Buffy!"

He winced at her words, the muscles of his jaw tensing as he bit back his pain. "Not givin' up. Just… moving on." He made his way to the door to the yard resolutely.

"We'll tell her! We'll tell her what happened and… and it'll all be OK."

He stopped, back to her. "No, it won't. What she said, it's how she feels now – really feels, deep down. You wanna say, 'hey you know your whole life as a slayer you _think_ you've believed vampires are the evil undead? Well, you don't remember, but for a while you were in love with one. And we're not talking about the great poof.'" He glanced back at her with a wry smile. "You think?"

"We could tell her about your soul."

He pressed his lips together and shrugged. "The soul's only part of the package. Besides, she'll want to know where it came from and…" He closed his eyes. _Not going through all that again_. "No. And I don't want you rockin' the boat, OK? Promise?"

"Spike…"

"I mean it, nibblet."

"What if she remembers?" Dawn called after him desperately. "What if she needs you?"

"Tired of living on 'what if's'. Gonna go find me some certainties."

"You'll come back? Spike… you _will_ come back?" She gave up fighting and let the tears come.

"Oh, you know me. Bad penny." He stopped by the door, hesitated and then put down the bag. He turned and crossed the room to her quickly, hugging her to him fiercely. He kissed the top of her head, feeling the smoothness of her hair beneath his lips, breathing the warm, clean smell of her. _Hell, leaving her was almost as bad…_ "You take care of yourself, huh?" he said, his voice rough with emotion.

She could hear the hurt, clear and sharp in his voice. She held him tightly, her face pressed into his shoulder arms around his waist. "Don't go." she whispered. "Please?"

He detached himself from her firmly. "Goodbye, Dawn." He touched her cheek gently, walked to the door and picked up his bag. This time there was no hesitation. He went out into the gathering shadows of the evening and he didn't look back.

Buffy walked. Blindly, with no destination in mind, she threaded her way through unknown streets busy with homeward-bound commuters. The space of Hyde Park opened around her, the fading colours of autumn dulled by light filtered through heavy grey skies, the grass wet beneath her feet – all unnoticed. She walked on, head down, hands thrust deeply into her pockets, past the flat, steel-smooth Serpentine and out of the park again, finding a crossing for the busy road automatically, barely aware of her surroundings.

She tried to walk the confusion away, to tie down the disorder of thoughts racing frantically around her head. But still his image filled her mind and the memory of the breathless seconds in the basement burned inside her. And still the cold, dizzying pain of what she'd read, the hard anger of a betrayal she knew she had no right to feel, but that she'd clutched to her like a shield, ached. _Vampire. Evil undead. Killer. Worse – killer of slayers; how dangerous did that make him?_ She'd dropped her guard. She'd taken him as he appeared and forgotten what he was – she'd forgotten what _she_ was. And it had happened so quickly, so easily. _Why?_ Why had he touched her so deeply? She'd behaved like a hormonal teenager – blinded by her physical attraction to him. And that's all it was – physical. Nothing more. Her steps faltered. She knew that wasn't true. Over the past few days she'd felt she'd known him, been stunned by how well he'd seemed to know her; and the small quiet voice at the core of her being said '_And now he's in your heart..._'

"No." She stopped suddenly, passers-by throwing her wary looks as they moved to avoid her. She looked around, confused by the noise of heavy traffic that seemed to suddenly impinge on her senses. Half-familiar buildings stretched around her, and ahead of her an elegant fountain played in a tree-edged square. Sloane Square. She was almost home – not altogether sure how she'd got here, but here she was. She took a deep breath and walked on.

Dawn was sitting curled up on Spike's bed, the thesis clutched in her hands. She looked up at Buffy as she came down the stairs. "He's not here." She said flatly.

"Oh." Buffy gestured to the thesis. "You've seen that?"

Dawn shrugged. "Didn't need to. Knew it all already. Though I have to say it's a bit over the top. Certainly not A material."

"You knew about this?"

"Yes. I knew."

"How?"

"I told you, I met him in Rome, and after I got to know him I… I researched, OK?"

"And you didn't think this mattered?"

"No. I didn't." Dawn looked at Buffy. "This Spike in here," she held up the thesis "this isn't the Spike I know. I know what he was. Difference is I can see what he _is_. You could too, if you just let yourself."

"What?" Buffy folded her arms across her chest and frowned at Dawn.

"You're saying he's beyond redemption? You've seen him, Buffy - Jeez, you've been virtually inseparable for the past week! This," she waved the thesis, "you're reading about someone who doesn't exist anymore."

"He's a _vampire_… a monster."

"Angel is a vampire."

"He has a soul."

"He has…" Dawn stopped herself and gave a growl of exasperation. "The whole soul thing? That's too easy. It's always been your excuse and…" She stopped herself and started again. "So what? Do I have a soul? I mean, I'm just a ball of green energy - hardly came into this life in the normal way. And if I haven't got a soul? Am I a monster?"

"No! Of course not. That's not…"

"And what you remember about me from before, it's not real. Who knows what whatever I am used to get up to. You judge me on what you see, on what I am to you _now_. Why can't you _ever_ judge him the same way? Why can't he be allowed to be a better man? What does a stupid soul matter?" Tears of anger and frustration started in Dawn's eyes.

"Dawnie…"

But Dawn wasn't to be stopped. "Willow had a soul. She killed people. She damn near killed us all. But _she's_ not beyond redemption? Can we say 'double standards'?" Dawn stood up and thrust the thesis into Buffy's hands. "No." She gestured as Buffy opened her mouth to speak. "Don't. I can't do this now." She pushed past her sister and made for the stairs. Half way up she stopped and turned back. "You know, I've been wondering. Is this really all about Spike? Or is this about you?"

Buffy watched her leave then looked down at the thesis. She stared at it blindly for a long while, then carefully smoothed the cover on Spike's bed and laid it neatly on his pillow. Then she wrapped her arms around herself, closed her eyes briefly and turned away.

They'd warned her he was back, naturally - Wolfram and Hart kept a close eye on this renegade vampire - and they'd warned her that something was clearly not right with him. But even so, she wasn't prepared for the rawness of what she saw in his eyes, the fragility of the hold he was keeping on himself.

He stood in her office doorway and leaned against the frame, arms folded, trying for the Big Bad smirk and failing miserably.

"So." Ilona sighed. "It didn't work out, huh? You and your Booffy?"

"That obvious?" He shrugged. "Fool to think it ever would."

"Ah, _l'amore_, huh? I think she makes a fool of us all." She stood up with a sigh and went over to him. She reached up to take his face in her hands and kissed him gently on either side of his mouth. "So." She rested her hands on his chest and looked up at him, head tilted. "You want to talk, maybe?"

Spike rested his hands on her waist. "I want a drink."

She gave a throaty chuckle. "Naturally!"

"And a bed."

"_Si_, my bed is your bed."

He raised an eyebrow. "Oh, yeah?"

"The penthouse…" She gave him a slow smile.

"Ah." He gave her a rueful smile. "Pity." The smile faded. "And then, I want to talk - about that job offer."

Ilona gave him a concerned frown. "I think maybe we start with the drink." She said thoughtfully.


	14. Fourteen

Willow returned to London the next day. She arrived while Buffy was at the Council, and was immediately spirited away into Giles' study. The door was firmly closed, and Dawn was not invited. The longer the discussion went on in there, the more unsettled Dawn felt. She paced the kitchen impatiently, seething quietly, while Andrew watched nervously.

"I could make you some tea," he offered.

"No tea." Dawn looked at the clock and frowned. "I should be in there! She's my sister!"

"Coffee? I could use the glass thing," he peered suspiciously at the cafetière "I think."

"No." Dawn looked up at the clock. "They've been in there _ages._"

"Umm… hot chocolate?"

"No."

"We have tiny marshmallows."

"Andrew!"

"I'm sorry! I'm just trying to help!" Andrew looked hurt.

"Oh, this is so _stupid_!" Dawn growled and stormed out of the kitchen. Andrew heard Giles' study door open and the sound of Dawn's angry voice. The study door slammed closed, and there was silence again. Andrew sighed and looked at the clock. He didn't give them long.

Less than two minutes later the study door slammed back on its hinges. Dawn rushed past him, through the kitchen and down the stairs to the cellar. Andrew looked at the door nervously, then followed her.

She was sitting on Spike's bed, staring at the floor, white-faced and shaken. She looked up as Andrew came to sit next to her.

"It… umm… it didn't go so well, then." He offered.

She shook her head. "Willow won't try. She won't do it without Buffy's say-so, and Buffy _can't_ say because she doesn't know, and no-one will tell her because… because they say that it will be bad for her, and they don't even know if Willow can do something and…" She gave a despairing sigh. "But you know what it is really? They don't _want_ her to remember! They don't!" Dawn felt the prick of tears of frustration. "They want Spike out of her life for good."

"It's not that." Willow's voice came from the stairs. She came down slowly and stood in front of Dawn and Andrew. "Dawnie, it's not that. I mean," she hesitated "yeah, OK, that's how Giles feels but you know Giles where Buffy's concerned, all watchery and not big with the Vampire Slayer dating vampires thing… or the dating… anybody thing, really…" She frowned then shook her head. "It's just… it's not so easy."

"I don't see the problem." Dawn said stubbornly.

Willow sighed and sat next to her. "I'm still not convinced I could do it, and even if I could…" she paused. "Thing is, mending Buffy's memories means I have to sort of get inside her mind. I've been working with the coven to try and find a way around it, but there doesn't seem to be one. And then, when I'm in there, all her memories, all her innermost thoughts and feelings I get to see them. Open book. Everything." She bit her lip. "Doing that… you know, just going in there… it's worse than… than reading somebody's secret diary without permission. Much worse. It feels like a sort of… of _rape_, almost. I can't do that. Not again." She added quietly.

"But, Willow, if you were Buffy, wouldn't you want to know?" Dawn looked at her pleadingly.

"Yes… no…" Willow wrung her hands. "Maybe. But… what if we tell her? You don't think it might be a bit confusing? She's all big with the slayer thing and… and Spike's the evil undead, so we go tell her that actually… he kinda saved the world and she was in love with him until her immortal ex-boyfriend wiped her memory. And… and we'll have to tell her she might never get the memories back and… oh, by the way, if… if we do try the spell, then I'll get to see all the private stuff in your head and besides there's no guarantee that it's safe and if it isn't and something goes wrong… _whoa_… major madness badness." She shrugged unhappily. "Kinda not sure, here."

The three of them sat in silence, each lost in their thoughts.

"You should have seen them in Rome, Will." Dawn said softly.

Andrew nodded. "They were like Anthony and Cleopatra. Romeo and Juliet. Bogart and Bacall. Burton and..." Andrew's voice tailed away as Dawn raised her eyebrows at him. "It was so romantic." He gazed off into the distance. "Star-crossed lovers…"

"Oh, here we go…" Dawn mumbled.

"…torn from each other's arms at the gates of death, finally reunited, rekindling their deep and torrid passions in the heat of a Roman night." He sighed.

Dawn gave him a long look. "Are you done?"

Andrew gave an abashed smile. "It was neat."

"Look. How about this." Willow said thoughtfully. "I'll go in when Buffy's asleep – not too deep, just a look-see. Maybe I can get a better feel for how this was done, maybe even how best to undo it. And if… if it's all easy-peasy and there's gonna be no risk, then we've got something to take to Giles."

"And if it isn't?"

"Well, at least we'll know what we're up against." Willow said unhappily.

_xxxxxx_

"I made you some tea." Willow carried two steaming cups into the bedroom. "And I stole a couple of Giles' favourite cookies. He thought he'd hidden them, but no cookie is safe from witchy-type chocolate craving."

"Oh, cookie goodness!" Buffy was sitting up in bed, blankets tucked around her legs. "Although strictly speaking these are biscuits. See? I'm learning Englishese!" She took a cup and sniffed it suspiciously. "What sort of tea is this?"

"Oh, you know," Willow smiled innocently. "Camomile, that sort of thing. Helps with the good sleeping and the happy dreams." And a few other herbs just to help keep her asleep and open her mind for later. Willow suppressed a twinge of guilt as she slipped under the covers of the other bed. "So – how's it been going over at the Council?"

"Not nearly as dull as it sounds – but don't tell Giles I said that. I don't want to spend every day there. You know, I've been here _days_ now and still I haven't gotten to shop? Oh! Did you hear I went on a date?" Buffy sipped at her tea and grimaced. "Yewww! Are you sure this is good for me?" She took a bite of her biscuit.

"The best! Drink up! Witch's orders." Willow sipped at her own concoction. "A date? So – tell."

"You remember Fairfax? He asked me out. He was kind of…"she paused in thought, then grinned. "British! Very polite and restrained. Not that I know many British men; I mean there's Giles, but he's… you know… _old_."

"And Spike." Willow said casually, watching Buffy carefully over the rim of her cup.

"Spike." Buffy gave a tight smile. "You heard, huh?"

"About the thesis? I heard."

Buffy shook her head. "What was I supposed to think, Will? I mean, turns out everybody knew about his past, and no-one seemed to think it was worth telling me about it." Buffy finished her tea and put the cup down on the table.

"You knew he was a vampire, Buffy. Hardly a surprise about the less than vegetarian past, eating people kinda being part of the job description and all." Willow shrugged.

"I know, I know." Buffy sighed. "But he killed slayers. Not big with the comfort factor here. He'd got close… I'd let him get close." She closed her eyes. "Too close."

"Sounds like the two of you were pretty… friendly. And it seems like he'd changed. I mean, from what Dawn tells me."

"Dawn is biased." Buffy snorted. "I think she's fallen for the whole bad boy charm."

"And you didn't, naturally. No falling for the baby blues and the cheekbones and the sexy smile and the cool leather coat."

"Me? He's _so_ not my type. But I'm beginning to think he might be yours."

"He _is_ kind of cute."

"Cute? No way!"

"I could go for him. If it wasn't for the whole gay thing, naturally." Willow shrugged.

"What about the whole big, bad, vampire thing?" Buffy raised an eyebrow at her. There was a brief silence. Willow finished her tea and put down her cup, as Buffy settled back in her bed, stretching luxuriously. "Hot." Buffy yawned.

"Hot?" Willow gave her a puzzled look. "Who's hot?"

"Oh!" Buffy blushed. "Did I say that aloud? Umm… me! I'm… hot. Must be the tea." She fanned her reddened cheeks with her hand. "Phew! Hot tea!"

Willow grinned. "You were talking hot as in _Spike_!"

"No I wasn't!" Buffy gave an abashed smile. "OK. Maybe I was. It's just… I mean, looking at it purely objectively, of course… he's not _cute_ so much… not really… more kinda… hot." She rolled her eyes. "What did you put in that tea?"

"Hey, nothing wrong with admiring a pretty face and a tight butt, even on the terminally vampiric." Willow shrugged.

"Willow Rosenberg!" Buffy gave a snort of surprise.

"What? It's OK to look! Not like I'd ever say anything to anyone's face. I mean, I couldn't anyways, if I was watching their butt…"

Buffy shook her head and lay back, resting her head on her pillow. "It wouldn't have been so bad if that was all it was. But there was something else. He… he's arrogant and annoying and rude and opinionated and… and he never knows when to shut up."

"But still…?" Willow prompted.

"I felt…" she gazed off into space, then gave a self-depreciating shrug. "It was kind of nice having him around," she conceded sleepily. "But the risks. It's probably best he's gone. It was getting too complicated."

"Complicated is never to the good. Complicated leads to too much thinking and much uncertainty and the arguing in circles and the unscheduled visits to Rio de Janeiro and… and carnival-based recriminations." She caught Buffy's confused look. "Oops. Sorry." She shook her head and refocused. "So complicated has gone and now you're all big with the uncomplicated?"

"Turns out not so much." Buffy's voice was heavy with sleep. "I miss him." She sighed and closed her eyes. "How strange is that?"

"Not so strange…" Willow listened as Buffy's breathing deepened and she settled into sleep. "Buffy…?" she said quietly. There was no reply. She turned to sit of the edge of the bed facing Buffy and reached into the pocket of her robe. She took out two well worn crystals, smoothing her fingers over the cool, shiny surface of the haematite thoughtfully as she watched Buffy sleep. No time like the present… She placed the grey metallic stone on her lap and rested her hands on top of it, cradling the amethyst. The haematite was her grounding stone, to keep her focussed and bring her home, the amethyst would help channel her psychic energy. She looked over at Buffy. "OK, here goes." She closed her eyes and concentrated, reaching her consciousness through the focusing lattice of the crystal and slowly toward that of her friend, following the lines of their connection carefully. The herbs helped – Buffy slept soundly and Willow eased herself gently into Buffy's mind, soothing as she went, taking Buffy deeper into sleep. She paused, drew on the power focussed in the crystal and opened herself to Buffy. The tendrils of her consciousness spread slowly, carefully feeling their way, staying at the superficial levels of Buffy's mind, gently probing for something, for a feeling of _wrongnes_s… and there it was. Willow drew back suddenly, snapped her mind away, pulling hard on her connection to the grounding stone. Her eyes flew open with a gasp. She looked over at Buffy quickly. Her breathing was deep and regular – she was OK.

Willow turned out the lights and lay back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. He'd put a ward on it. The bastard had booby-trapped the spell! She was pretty sure she'd got away with it, that she'd been careful enough to avoid him feeling her presence. But if she'd just barged in there… Willow shivered and closed her eyes. So, it wasn't going to be straightforward after all. Whoever did this was a powerful warlock – very powerful. In the darkness, Willow smiled. But she'd tasted that power. She'd had a glimpse of him, for all he hadn't seen her. And he had _no_ idea what he was up against.


	15. Fifteen

Willow had been quiet and withdrawn the next morning, and despite her best efforts, Dawn couldn't get her to open up about what she'd found out. Later in the day, Willow had spoken to Giles alone in his study, and had emerged even quieter and more thoughtful than she had gone in.

The two of them had cornered dawn in the kitchen and Dawn had quailed under the disapproving look Giles had given her. "I will say no more about this other than…" He ran his hand over his hair. "You encouraged Willow to do something that was, to say the least, foolhardy. Neither of you has any idea what the consequences of your actions might have been. Have you no concern for your sister's welfare? You are obsessed with this… this idiotic romantic fallacy about Spike, to the point you can no longer see reason."

"It's not a fallacy!" Dawn glared at Giles defiantly. "Buffy is entitled to her past. You have no right to keep it from her."

"I'm not denying… "Giles sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Yes, I'm sorry. I know you were doing what you thought best, but we cannot afford to take risks in this. Willow will return to the coven with the new information last night's little _escapade_ uncovered." Willow gave Dawn a nervous smile. "And when she has thoroughly researched this and she is confident that there is no possibility of any damage to Buffy, then… we will discuss this again."

Dawn nodded to Giles curtly and turned to Willow. "How long?"

"I'm not sure, Dawnie." Willow gave a helpless shrug. "Few days, maybe?"

"OK." Dawn folded her arms and set her lips. "I'll wait."

But the days passed and still there was no word from Willow. In London, life settled into something resembling a routine. There was work to be done with the Council, young slayers still to be sought out and supported, new watchers to appoint and the whole wisdom of ages to be reassembled and catalogued in the library.

Dawn and Buffy worked together, but they seemed uneasy in each other's company, each watchful of the other and neither wanting to relive the conversation in the basement by mentioning the cause of their unease.

Buffy watched Dawn. She could sense her sister's anger, the brittle disapproval behind the tight-lipped smiles, and although as time went on it faded somewhat, she knew she was still seriously out of favour. Part of her longed to talk to Dawn, to try and explain why she'd said what she had, how she'd felt about Spike. But deep down she knew she couldn't, because in all honestly she didn't understand it herself.

Dawn watched Buffy. She'd changed. She went about her Council business during the day calmly, cooked them improbable meals in the evening and curled up companionably enough on the sofa each evening to watch TV and mimic the accents in _Eastenders_. It was not that there was anything wrong Dawn could put her finger on, not really, just a lack of something – an essential bit of Buffyness that was missing. And she was looking tired – her eyes were dark-ringed despite her efforts with make-up, and she sometimes seemed alomst overwhelmingly weary. Dawn would find her sitting alone in the kitchen, a rapidly cooling cup of coffee on the table in front of her, staring off into space. She would smile and shrug and say she was fine, but the look in her eyes told Dawn otherwise. So, despite her anger at her sister's cruel words and what they had caused, Dawn worried about her.

Andrew watched them both and wished Spike would come back.

_xxxxxxx_

"We need to get Spike back." Dawn said out of the blue. She and Andrew were breakfasting alone; Giles and Buffy had already left for an early morning meeting of the Watchers. Buffy had grinned and called it a "power breakfast," but Giles had warned her that, as power breakfasts go, this would be a low wattage affair.

Andrew stopped rummaging through the cereal box in his search for the Spiderman toy and his face brightened. "I agree!"

Dawn stared off into the distance, a frown creasing her forehead. "When he was here – I mean, you saw how they were together. All with the snark and the secret glances and the fighting. You can't tell me there wasn't something there between them. And since he went, it's like she's just – I dunno, going through the motions. At least if he was here we might get _some_ sort of real reaction from her." She bit her lip. "One way or another. It would have to be better than this. But we'd best hide any wooden pointy objects, just in case."

"It'll be like a quest!" Andrew's eyes shone. "We should give it a cool name…"

"No, we really shouldn't."

"We'll need supplies and possibly some cool things to wear. Questing doesn't come cheap." Andrew considered. "We'll need a war chest."

"I've got this." Dawn reached into her pocket and pulled out a credit card. "Giles gave it to me so I could get any housekeeping stuff we needed."

"He didn't give me one!" Andrew pouted.

"No, really?" Dawn gave him a mocked surprised look. She looked at the card and sighed. "Thing is, I promised him faithfully I'd only use it for living expenses and nothing else. Hey, guess what?" She looked up at Andrew with a grin. "I lied! We should be able to get your ticket and some cash before Giles knows what's happening."

"_Me?_" Andrew's eyes widened. "You want me to go after Spike?"

"No, but I don't think we've got much choice. Buffy might buy you've gone off to visit relatives or something, but not me. So – you get to go hunt-the-Spike." Dawn looked at him seriously. "And when you find him, you bring him home – whatever it takes."

"Wow. It's like a real mission." Andrew said dreamily. "You're like M… the Judi Dench one naturally… only… younger. Maybe I could get an exploding pen, and a lazer watch… and a gun."

"Hello? Earth to 007? No gun. Just go find him. No heroics – you so aren't built for it."

"I know how to work a gun!" Andrew looked hurt. "Anyway, that's OK. My hands are lethal weapons."

"Yeah, right." Dawn snorted. "How is the nose, by the way?"

Andrew was deep in fantasyland and refused to rise to the bait. "But where do I start? Hmm." He narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. "Where would I go if I were a lean, handsome creature of the night with a cool leather jacket;, a lone-wolf vampyr, brave and true, my heart ripped asunder by the woman I love, the beautiful slayer of vampyrs…"

"I think that may take more imagination than even you are actually capable of." Dawn bit her lip. "Only one place I can think of – only person who might know where he is, or might be able to track him down." She turned to Andrew. "How do you fancy a trip to the city of Angel?"

_xxxxxxxx_

In the over-heated meetings room on the second floor of the Council offices, Buffy struggled to suppress a yawn. She was _trying_ to keep up with the graphs and figures that the terribly earnest woman was flashing up on the screen at an alarming rate, but she was finding it hard enough to stay awake, let alone concentrate. Her gaze was increasingly draw to the window, and she'd found that if she leaned nonchalantly back in her seat she could just about see the tops of the trees in Hyde Park through a gap in the buildings opposite. The sky above them was a cold, clear blue, full of the promise of a bright autumn day. Suddenly a walk in the park seemed a very attractive option; the thought of some grass under her feet and crisp cold air in her lungs made her sigh wistfully. She caught Giles' frown and tried to refocus on the presentation. She was fighting a losing battle. Despite her efforts, her eyes grew steadily heavier and her brain grew steadily woollier. She fought back another yawn. She really needed to get a decent night's sleep, _no – really_. But, she thought unhappily, there was little chance of that.

It was the nightmares. They were innocuous at first – no more than a confused memory of a dream that left her with a strange, unsettled feeling on waking which stayed with her into the morning. But as the days passed, the dreams became more vivid, the images more disturbing and bizarre, and she'd wake in a cold sweat to a memory of pain and fire and the fierce ache of loss, and although the confused images faded, the feelings stayed. She began to dread closing her eyes at night, to fear the onset of sleep. When she did sleep, she did so restlessly, waking in a tangle of sheets and blankets, her pillow on the floor beside her. And then there was the night she'd woken in the basement, curled up on Spike's bed, its cover wet with her tears. She'd sat there, clutching his pillow, wide-eyed with fear at the terrifying thought that she was losing her mind.

And when she thought about it she had to admit that all of this – the nightmares and the sleepwalking – had started soon after Spike had gone. _But why?_ She sighed, ignored Giles and gazed out at the clear blue sky. She gave in and let her weary brain wander where it pleased; and where it pleased seemed to be to a blond, blue-eyed vampire and the memory of the way he'd made her feel and the traitorous thought of just how much she missed him.


	16. Sixteen

He soon got himself a reputation. Wolfram and Hart's emissaries always engendered a certain respect, but this one – this one was special. He took risks beyond the necessary and dealt Wolfram and Hart's justice with hard dispassion and expressionless blue eyes. He was choosy about which jobs he took – he had his own strict morality and wouldn't touch certain cases – and the Senior Partners indulged him, first at Ilona's request, later because they learnt his value. But if the evil empire needed to dole out a little rough justice on the equally evil, Spike was their man.

He'd given up hoping he would find any sort of solution. At best, he found temporary release from his memories in the cat-and-mouse of the hunt, in the tang of fear in his target and, if it came to it (and it often did), in the animalism of the fight – of fists and fangs and the smell of blood. He drank alone, wearing his brittle, cold anger like a shield. Sometimes, someone would take the risk – drawn to the lean blond with his pain wrapped around him like his duster – and sometimes he'd lose himself in the warmth of soft arms and unknown perfumes and a fleeting oblivion, but he'd never let them get close, never let them really touch him. Then, as soon as a place became familiar, as soon as there was any sign of it becoming comfortable, he'd be looking to move on, looking for a new assignment, anything that meant he could keep on not thinking, keep on moving.

Which is why he was sitting here, in a shabby, run-down bar in a shabby run-down town somewhere in eastern Europe, with a fresh set of bruises and someone else's blood on his knuckles and the memory of the fight bitter in his throat. He did a lot of business in this part of the world; demonkind flourished in the poverty and discontent, and despite everything, the spirit of rebellion was soaked into the psyche of human and demon alike. Wolfram and Hart had to work hard to keep their hold here. The disparate collection of rough, poorly-dressed men and shifty, hard-bitten demons in the bar watched him warily, and no-one went near him. His reputation had preceded him – the fact _he_ was here and not the heavily-built Kvaryl demon chieftain he'd just taken outside only reinforced it.

He sensed her come into the bar. The sudden silencing of the raucous male conversation was a bit of a give-away, too – well, a woman like that was bound to stop the traffic wherever she went. He didn't turn, just carried on staring down into his glass as she crossed the room to a low, appreciative murmur and slid on to the bar stool beside him in a sigh of tight black silk. There was a general rueful muttering and the odd burst of harsh laughter. The vampire's girl, huh? Well, they sure as hell weren't going to mess with that one. Gradually the conversation in the room returned to normal, save for the odd envious glance and whispered comment aimed in the direction of the pair at the bar.

Spike gestured to the barman for two more drinks, fished in his pocket for his lighter then turned to light her cigarette. She watched him carefully, taking in the new bruises on his cheek, the new lines etched around his mouth and eyes. A fleeting frown touched her forehead and she looked away.

"So." She breathed a long stream of smoke. "Our client was not so 'appy with our new terms, huh?"

"Not at first." He shrugged and took a swallow of his drink. "I think I persuaded him to see reason."

"_Si_, you usually do." Ilona sighed. She rested her arms on the bar and leaned forward. The movement impressively increased her already dramatic cleavage, Spike could hardly fail to notice – and given the sudden crash of breaking glass, neither could the suddenly distracted barman, it seemed.

Spike grinned. She should really carry a health warning. "So – what's this, then? Checkin' up on me?"

"No, not at all. I mean, naturally we want to be sure you 'ave not had the pretty head smooshed, huh? The Senior Partners are very 'appy with their new employee, it would… distress them to lose you." Spike shrugged and looked away and Ilona went on. "But this is not about the business; this is… 'ow you say… a social visit. The Partners do not know I'm 'ere."

He raised an eyebrow. "You sure about that? Thought the old wolf, ram and hart were omnipresent?"

She shrugged. "Not as much as they maybe like to think they are."

"OK, so, what? You just happened to be passing? Bit off the beaten track. Not even your territory."

"I was in need of a drink and a leetle company, maybe." She smiled at him slowly.

"A-ha. And Rome doesn't have any of that." Spike shook his head "What are you really here for?"

She looked at him for a long moment. "I am worried about you," she said eventually.

He wasn't expecting that, or the sudden pull in his gut at the compassion in her eyes. "No need to be." He turned away.

"_Si_, I think there is need to be. Spike, why you do this?"

"The money. The girls. The power. The opportunity to cause damage." He shrugged. "Much the same as you, I'd wager."

"The girls I can take or leave." She gave him a wry smile. "Money you 'ave always managed to find. The girls too, I think, are…" she let her eyes travel over his body slowly and raised an eyebrow. " …not a problem. The power means nothing to you. The damage… well, that follows you anyway. So – the real reason?"

He stared down into his glass. "Something to do, isn't it?" he said eventually. "Because, failing a slayer gettin' her one good day before I get mine, or us gettin' ourselves a _proper _apocalypse, I got best part of eternity ahead of me. And given the whole eatin' people and causin' mayhem thing has mostly lost its appeal, what's a vampire supposed to do with himself? The big, broody, nancy-boy hero of the people role's been taken. So, I'll just get a few kicks beatin' up demons for profit. Gives me a purpose, you know? Reason to get out of bed of a night." He gave her a lopsided smile.

"And a way of avoiding the things you'd rather no face up to, huh?" She smiled and shook her head.

"You're my psychologist, all of a sudden?"

Ilona chuckled. "You think I should maybe determine whether your ego defence mechanism is displacement or suppression, or whether your ego and id are out of balance?"

"Freud was a tosser." Spike snorted.

"A reasoned argument!" Ilona laughed. "I think maybe you would find his work appropriate right now. After all, 'e said we 'ave only the two drives; sex and aggression…"

"He got something right then."

"You do not believe it is that simple."

"Why not? Sounds good to me."

She gave him a puzzled smile. "Why you pretend to be what you are not?"

"I don't. What you see is what you get."

"No." Ilona shook her head. "Not even close."

"Why are you doing this?" He looked up at her curiously. "You've come all this way. I mean, it's nice enough here, if you like seedy," he gestured around the bar, "but it seems an awful long way to come just for sawdust on the floor and bad vodka and a chat about psychology."

"As I say, I am worried about you." She shrugged.

"I'm all kinds of fine. So, thanks for calling by." He raised his glass to her in mock salute.

She watched him for a moment as he swallowed his drink with a grimace and ordered another, the muscles of his jaw tight. "You know," she said eventually, "I look at you, I see myself. Always in love with the wrong person, huh? Always with the pain and heartache. We Italians have a saying…"

"Naturally." He snorted.

Ilona ignored him. "'Where there is great love, there is great pain.'"

"Yeah?" he raised an eyebrow at her. "Well, we vampires have a saying, too. 'Fuck that.'"

She gave a throaty chuckle and touched his cheek. "I think you would like to believe that. But I think you do not. This…" she took his hand, turned it over in hers and gestured to the blood, "is not the answer to the great love."

"No? Well it's the best I've got right now."

"Then I am sad for you." She closed his fingers on his palm.

"OK – what's your answer? You look at me, you see you. So, what do you do with the 'great love'."

"I learn." She said shortly. "I move on."

Spike looked over at her, at the set of her jaw and the flash of hard, ancient pain in her eyes, the sudden vulnerability quickly locked away. He watched her, head tilted, a small frown creasing his forehead. "Yeah? Wanna tell me how?"

She hesitated then finished her drink in a single swallow, the raw spirit not even raising a wince. "Tonight is not the time for my story, I think." The wide smile was firmly back in place. "Now, where you stay, is a nice 'otel? A girl needs her beauty sleep, no? Maybe we will find me a room and then we talk some more tomorrow, huh?"

"You don't need a room." He cocked an eyebrow at her, pressed his tongue against his teeth. "I got a double." He had to admit that even to his ears that sounded half-hearted.

She stubbed out her cigarette with a shrug. "There are circumstances when the one night stand is a very agreeable thing, no? Uncomplicated."

"I sense a 'but' coming." Spike sighed.

She smiled slowly. "But not with you. With you, for me it is not uncomplicated. Now," she stood up and stretched luxuriously, a move that strained the plunging neckline of her dress and caused another round of muted comments and envious looks from the men in the room. "Let us see if we can find me a room." She leaned down and kissed Spike softly on the lips. "And if you are a very good boy," she purred running a finger down his cheek, "and carry my bag, I might even buy breakfast."

Along with the rest of the clientele, Spike watched the deliberate sway of her hips as she crossed the room to the accompaniment of barely suppressed groans of desire. She paused at the door and turned back to him, eyebrow cocked. He shook his head with a snort of laughter, threw a handful of notes on the bar, picked up her bag, and followed her.


	17. Seventeen

The hotel reeked of faded glory. The entrance hall had obviously once been a grand affair, with ornate, gilded plaster mouldings adorning the high ceiling, rich flocked wallpaper and a fine marble floor leading across to the polished mahogany desk. But the gilding had faded to a tired brass, the wallpaper was worn and shabby, and the marble floor was dirty and crazed with fissures. Since the dissolution of the Soviet Union, the town was no longer frequented by the Russian elite escaping the Moscow summer, and without their patronage the place was clearly struggling to survive. The disinterested woman behind the desk had no problem finding a room for Ilona; suddenly rather less disinterested, she told them, in fact, the room adjoining Spike's was free. There followed much winking, pointed glances at Ilona's cleavage, muttered comments in her native language and suggestive chuckles as the woman found the relevant heavily ornate key and handed it to Spike.

"I'm sort of glad I don't speak whatever the hell she was talking." Spike said as they made their way up the wide, sweeping staircase.

Ilona laughed. "I do."

"Yeah? And?"

"She think that we are here for the secret assignation. She cannot decide whether we are on the run from my 'usband or your wife. She will be most surprised to find us in the separate rooms in the morning."

They stopped outside her room and Spike held up the key, head tilted. "We don't have to be." He tried out his best suggestive smirk.

Ilona was made of stronger stuff. She took the key with a throaty chuckle and tapped it against his chest. "You are a very bad man, trying to lead poor innocent women astray!"

He let the 'innocent' go. "A drink, then? I've got a bottle of halfway decent whisky in my room…" He felt strangely reluctant to lose her company, the unexpected comfort of a friendly face.

She gave a resigned laugh. "Very well! A drink."

In his room, she took off her shoes and ran her fingers through her hair, watching her reflection in the age-speckled glass of the ornate rococo mirror hanging by the bed. "'Ow you manage all this time without mirrors?" She watched the reflection of a mysteriously floating bottle as Spike poured a drink. "Not to see that 'andsome face – 'ow sad!"

"You get used to it. Comes in handy sometimes." He put the bottle down and moved, unseen, to stand close by her as she looked into the mirror. "You want the tooth mug or the bottle?" He said close to her ear.

She laughed and turned to face him. "A useful party trick, no?"

"You wouldn't believe how useful it's been."

"Oh, I think I can imagine…" Ilona settled comfortably on the bed, the ancient wooden frame creaking alarmingly under her weight. "If we were up to no good in 'ere I think the 'ole of the town would know, huh? Here!" She took the glass Spike offered her and patted the bed. "Sit! We talk!" She looked up at him under lowered lashes as he hesitated. "I promise to be good."

He grinned and settled next to her. "I'm sure you are _very_ good."

"Ah, _si_! _Very_ good indeed." She laughed and settled against him companionably. "This is very nice, no?"

"Umm… yeah…" Spike looked resolutely away from the hypnotising rise and fall of her magnificent cleavage and tried not to notice the effect the closeness of her warm, exotically perfumed body was having on his. Ilona took a sip of her drink and rested the hand holding her glass against his thigh. _Bloody hell!_ He shifted uncomfortably. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea.

She looked up at him appraisingly, one eyebrow cocked. "So, this is helping?" she asked eventually.

"Helping?" Spike said unsteadily.

She gestured with her glass, moving her hand from his thigh, much to Spike's relief. "What you are doing – the work you do for Wolfram and Hart. It 'elps you forget your Boofy?"

"It… takes my mind off it. Besides, it's not all about Buffy."

Ilona gave him a sceptical smile.

"Well, OK… maybe it is." Spike admitted.

"You love 'er. You should be with 'er."

"It's not that easy."

"True love, she never is." Ilona stared down into her drink. "Running away is not the answer – you cannot run from your heart."

Spike looked over at her. "Voice of experience?"

She sighed and laid her head back against the headboard. "_'Nothing is less in our power than the heart, and far from commanding we are forced to obey it._'

We all have much experience, those of us who are slaves to our heart, no?"

"Have you stopped running?"

"I stopped running only because there is nothing to run away from any more." She shrugged and took a deep swallow of whisky. Spike waited quietly and her eyes were distant when she finally went on. "It was many years ago. Many years. I mentioned once that I 'ad an 'usband, _si_? One because of whom I learn about mending broken bones? He was not a good man; he ruled with the fist. I was very young when we married, as was the tradition in my village. I was not strong." Her eyes were dark with bitter memories. "There was a man who taught me strength because he showed me what is love. But… I was married, no? In my village that meant much, and my 'usband…" She shrugged. "A bad man. _mio amante_ was a man with much honour and much fire in his heart." She looked at Spike. "He took that fire to _Roma_, and he fought for his country. He was a patriot, no? And during the invasion he made many enemies."

"Invasion?" Spike looked at her in confusion. "You're telling me he fought against the _Nazis_?"

She smiled grimly. "No. Napoleon." She looked at Spike and a flash of demon yellow shone in her eyes. "Wolfram and Hart nurture those who show promise. They do not wish to lose those valuable to them." She took a cigarette from the pack by the bed and lit it, blowing a stream of smoke up into the air.

Spike gave an incredulous snort. So, Wolfram and Hart really _did_ like a bit of demon in their CEOs – and apparently weren't above putting it there. "What happened to…?" he paused.

"Guglielmo." Her voice was low.

He nodded. "What happened to Guglielmo?"

She was silent for a moment. "'e was murdered." She drew deeply on the cigarette. "So, too late I follow my heart. I come to _Roma_ to carry on with 'is work; a woman who would kill freely was a valuable asset to the cause. It 'elped, as you understand - but only for a short while. Then, later… Wolfram and Hart found much to interest them in what I had become. I took what they offered. We have a saying," she smiled, "naturally…. '_Revenge is a dish best served cold_.' I had time to bide."

"And did you get your revenge?"

She narrowed her eyes. "Not yet," she said softly. She stubbed out her cigarette and the wide smile was back in place. "But now – you rest. You are to take a few days with no more of the fighting. No! I will 'ear no arguments! Sleep! Think! You must know what it is you truly want, and make the peace with yourself. Or one day you will make the mistake and that pretty head will get smooshed!" She was serious again. "Because this…" she gestured around the room, "this is not what you want." She stood up and stretched luxuriously. "Now, you must sleep. I must sleep. Tomorrow I go back to _Roma_. There is no rest for the wicked…"

"And you've been a very wicked woman." Spike grinned up at her.

She smiled lazily and bent down to him, resting her hands on his chest. "Ah, _si_, _very_ wicked. And maybe," she purred, "I will be again." She gave him a soft kiss, picked up her key and left him.

He listened as she opened to door of her room, heard the sound of running water, the protestations of the bed, vampire senses picking up her soft sigh as she settled under the covers. It was a long time until her breathing deepened into sleep. He sat staring at the darkened oil painting on the wall opposite unseeingly, the bottle of whisky steadily emptied. Then finally, as dawn began to touch the edges of the curtains with uncertain light, he slept.


	18. Eighteen

In his office at Wolfram and Hart, Angel stared at package on his desk suspiciously. He looked across at his be-suited visitor briefly, then opened the package with a sudden sure and certain knowledge of what he was going to find inside. _Right in one._ He sighed. "The Matrix."

"The _Ultimate_ Matrix Collection," Andrew pointed to the cover of the box of DVDs. "It's a limited edition, with figurine and collector's book." He smiled happily.

"Figurine…?" Angel looked at him bemusedly.

"And collectors book." Andrew looked at the box in awe. "Ten discs. Loads of extras, including audio commentaries and written introduction by the Wachowski brothers. Gee, I wish I'd bought one for myself…"

"Well, it's… great. I… err… well, thanks." Angel put the box carefully into a drawer of his desk. Maybe Gunn would like it… "Look, erm…" He gestured vaguely.

"Andrew."

"Yeah, Andrew. Not that it isn't good to see you again, but what exactly is so important? I mean, you – here – not just a phone call."

"It's sort of delicate." Andrew leaned forward conspiratorially and gestured for Angel to do the same. Angel wasn't convinced he wanted to hear what exactly the 'delicate' problem was from such close quarters. He eyed Andrew suspiciously. "I need you…" Andrew said quietly, "to find Spike."

"Spike's missing?" Angel sat back with a snort. "Is that all?"

"Well, he's sort of… gone off without leaving a forwarding address." Andrew shrugged. "There was a bit of a problem and he kind of… went."

"Spike and problem – well, there are two words that seem to fit naturally together." Angel sneered. "What did he do this time?"

"He didn't do anything!" Andrew's swift and emotional leap to Spike's defence earned him a raised eyebrow from Angel. "It was Buffy!"

"Buffy?"

Andrew hesitated. "You heard what happened to Buffy, right?"

"The memory thing? I'd heard, yeah. Not good." Angel looked away, shaking his head. There was a brief pause and then he looked back at Andrew. "But she still remembers _me_, right?"

"I suppose." Andrew looked doubtful. "She doesn't actually talk about you or anything…"

"Oh." Angel looked decidedly crestfallen.

"I mean, she said before that now you're working for Wolfram and Hart, you really aren't to be trusted."

"Well…"

"You're _persona non grata_."

"OK…"

"Gone over to the dark side." Andrew had gotten into his stride. "Sleeping with the enemy."

"All right already!" Angel snapped. Andrew gave him a hurt look and subsided. "I am not going to start to even try and explain things to you. You have no idea, OK? Let's just leave it at that." There was a moment's uncomfortable silence while they both sulked quietly. Angel relented first. "OK, so what went down between Spike and Buffy?"

"Spike overheard Buffy saying something kinda… hard… but she didn't mean it, I mean, not like that, not really, but he _thought_ she did, and he got kind of uptight about it and he didn't think Buffy wanted him around and so he… went, and we don't know where he's gone or where to start looking. But we think he should come back." Andrew paused breathlessly. "Soon," he added hopefully.

"And where do I come in?"

"Well, you know… We just thought… what with Wolfram and Hart being this big, powerful, multinational, multidimensional, multi…" Andrew ran out of 'multi's "…thingy… organisation, you could just sort of…" He grinned weakly at Angel "...find him?"

"Find him?" Angel looked at Andrew in disbelief.

"Well… yes…"

Angel folded his arms and considered Andrew. "Look, erm…"

"Andrew," Andrew supplied again.

"Yeah, right… I knew that! Andrew. Things are goin' down here; things are happening. You think I've got time to go chasing after Spike? Even assuming he wants to be found, I'm really not sure it's for the best."

"But… Buffy needs him!"

"Oh, yeah, right!" Angel snorted.

"They love each other. Theirs is a forever love," Andrew said dreamily.

Angel was outraged. "_Ours_ was a forever love! What they had was just… just… Ach! I don't even want to think about it!" He threw his hands up in the air and turned away with a frown.

"Buffy loved Spike. She told you in Rome."

"Well, she doesn't anymore." Angel turned back with a vicious smile.

"You're _mean_." Andrew pouted. "And jealous," he added quietly.

"I am _not_ jealous." Angel's voice was a dangerous growl and Andrew winced and cowered away from him. Angel shrugged the tension from his shoulders, drew a steadying breath and contemplated Andrew's resurgent pout. "Look, even if I wanted to, I just don't have the resources right now. I've got way more important things to do than chase after Spike." He shrugged. "Besides, I don't want to. And it's nothing to do with being jealous."

"That's a 'no', then," Andrew said unhappily.

"Yes.".

"Yes?"

"Yes, it's a 'no'," Angel spelt out patiently. "Go home. When Spike's ready, chances are he'll be back. Sadly, he's not that easy to get rid of. Believe me, I've been trying to shake him off for the past hundred plus years."

"Dawn will be so upset." Andrew bit his lip nervously.

"Dawn will have to learn to live with it." Angel picked up a pile of documents from his desk and shuffled them importantly. "Now, if there's nothing else…?"

Andrew smiled uncomfortably. "Well, there is one thing…"

"What?" Angel sighed heavily.

"Well… you see I wasn't sure where I'd be going after I saw you, so I only booked a one way ticket."

"So buy another one back."

"Thing is we kind of used Giles' credit card and now it's all used up…"

"You need a ticket home?"

"And somewhere to stay in LA for a day or two maybe? And some spending money?" Andrew said hopefully.

Angel rolled his eyes and stood up. "C'mon." He led Andrew out of his office.

Harmony was settling down at her desk having just returned from one of her infamous long lunch breaks. She looked up at Angel with a guilty smile. "Oh! Hi, boss. Look, I'm sorry I'm late, but they had this sale on at Kitson over on Robertson Boulevard, and there were these cute little kitten-heeled sandals, just like the ones Halle Berry was wearing in that _Hello_ magazine photoshoot and, you know, I swear I saw Jessica Parker…"

"Harmony!" Angel held up his hands, and Harmony ground to a stop. "Look, I just need you to get…" He turned to Andrew, who was cowering behind his back. "What are you doing?"

"Andrew?" Harmony came from behind her desk andwalked over to him. "Oh, my God! How are you?" She smiled widely.

"Harmony! Hi." Andrew stepped back nervously. "I… I'm OK… You're looking well."

"Thank you!" Harmony beamed. "Just because a girl's stopped breathing doesn't mean she has to stop trying!"

Angel raised his eyes in despair. "Harmony, just get him whatever he needs, will you?"

"Sure, boss." Harmony nodded. "Whatever he needs."

"I…" he took a step backwards, almost falling over a still clearly unsettled Andrew. He heaved a frustrated sigh, turned on his heel and left them to it.

They watched the door of Angel's office close with a slam that made them both jump, then Harmony turned to Andrew. "What are you doing here? We don't have another crazy slayer on the loose, do we?"

"N…no…"

"So, how goes the watchering?"

"It's going fine." Now it looked like Harmony wasn't about to bite him, Andrew relaxed slightly. "I'm just…sort of… visiting…" He paused, then looked at Harmony through narrowed eyes, smiling slyly. Angel wasn't the only one with access to Wolfram and Hart's databases: Andrew had a cunning plan. "Actually, I'm not working for the Council anymore. I'm working with Spike. That's why I was here to see Angel." He moved closer to Harmony, looked over his shoulder, then tapped the side of his nose. "Top secret," he whispered.

"Yeah?" Harmony's eyes widened. "You're working with Blondie Bear? I knew he was working for us now, or at least with Mrs Costa Bianchi over in the Rome office… I mean, how lucky is that? I would _so_ love to go to Rome! All that Armani and Prada and Bulgari and…" she sighed dreamily then gave Andrew a puzzled frown. "But I hadn't heard that you were."

"Spike's working for Wolfram and Hart? I mean… yes, Spike's working for Wolfram and Hart. As am I." Andrew struggled to keep the surprise out of his voice. On reflection, though, this news of Spike's new employment was an unexpected bonus – if he was working for them, they must know where he was. Andrew's cunning plan was developing nicely. "Like I said, it's top secret. Only key personnel are allowed to know. Angel said you could be trusted."

"I can? I mean, I can, yes. Wow." Harmony was impressed. "I can _so_ be trusted. Really I can!"

"I need you to get me a ticket." Andrew put his hand on Harmony's arm and led her back to her desk. "I need to meet up with Spike. I have some information for him. Some very important, very secret information."

"Oh! You have?" Harmony sat back at her computer. "Well, OK. Where to?" she poised her fingers over the keyboard and waited.

"Well, the thing is… I don't…" Andrew hesitated. The cunning plan reached a new level of cunningness. He glanced around then bent closer to Harmony. "I need to know if his whereabouts are on the system. _I_ know where he is, but does Wolfram and Hart?" He gave her a slow wink.

Harmony looked at him. "Well, duh! Wolfram and Hart always know where their employees are, silly!" She began typing on the keyboard, frowning at the screen. "Look! He's in LA! Right here! Well, would you believe it? He didn't even come and say hi!" Harmony pouted. "Oh – wait. That's not how you spell Spike…" She tried again. "There!" She sat back in triumph. "He's over in..." she frowned at the screen "Is that name for real?"

Andrew peered over her shoulder. "Ah, yes. It's a small town. In Europe…" he took a brave stab.

"It sounds Russian to me."

"It is." Andrew put on his best knowledgeable voice and made a mental note to look it up in the atlas. "Russia is now Europe."

"They moved it? Wow!"

"It seems you do have the most recent information." Andrew straightened up. "Now, if you could just organise the plane ticket…"

Harmony peered at him suspiciously. "You know, I'm not sure the boss said anything about a plane ticket."

"I think you'll recall his words were 'get him what he needs'." Andrew reminded her. "And I'm sure Spike will be very pleased to hear of your co-operation," he added as Harmony hesitated. "Perhaps we could get you to help us on one of our secret assignments."

Her eyes widened. "Me and Blondie Bear? Oh, wow…" Harmony drifted off into a vision of herself in a slinky Galliano dress and Jimmy Choo shoes, her pearl-handled pistol ready, sitting by Spike in an English sports cars speeding through the night, pursued by a gaggle of desperate villains driving a… well, something large and black anyway. She gave a happy sigh and turned back to her keyboard. "OK – let's see what we can do." She paused. "Hey! Why not use the jet? I think it's free…"

"No!" Andrew put in quickly. That may be pushing things a little bit too far. If Angel found out he could probably have the jet turn around and head straight back, and Andrew really didn't want to have to face up to one extremely cross vampire, ensouled or not. "No. No corporate jet. We need to work in secret, remember?" He tapped the side of his nose again.

"Why do you keep doing that?" Harmony frowned at him

"What?"

"The nose thing. You keep doing this." Harmony tapped her nose to demonstrate.

Andrew gave a long suffering smile. "You silly, silly child. All the secret agents do that."

"Yeah? Not sure I ever saw that James Bond do it."

"Pshaw," Andrew sneered. "He's not real."

"You don't say," Harmony drawled. She shook her head and turned back to the keyboard. "You'll be travelling First Class, I guess…"

"Naturally." _In for a penny…_ Andrew thought, as he watched Harmony. "Oh, and then a flight back to London." He thought a little longer. "And I'll need local currency… and a car to the hotel."

"You sure that's that all?" Harmony said dryly. She shook her head and looked back at the computer screen. "Oh, look! There's a flight tonight. You'll have to change… four times…" She sounded doubtful.

"Tonight is good. And changing planes will put them off the scent."

"Them?" Harmony was wide-eyed.

"_Them_." Andrew nodded wisely.

"Oh… _them_!" Harmony shook her head in admiration. She turned back to the keyboard, typed for a few moments then smiled. "OK! All done!" She reached over to the printer and handed Andrew a sheet of paper. "Here is your e-ticket. You're down as a Wolfram and Hart emissary, so you won't need to bother with silly visas and body searches and things. Have a good trip." She hesitated. "Andrew…?" She smiled nervously and looked down at her hands. "You know, now that Blondie Bear is working for Wolfram and Hart and all, do you think he's maybe given up on that… _sick _thing for the slayer?"

"The slayer? Oh, you mean Buffy?"

"Yeah, Buffy." Harmony sneered. "I mean, what he ever saw in that ugly, skinny, overbearing…" she struggled for a suitably insulting description "_unfashionable_ creature…And that big 'I am the Chosen One' act of hers? _So_ unattractive in a woman!"

"Overbearing, yeah." Andrew backed away a little smiling nervously. "Well, thanks, Harmony. Best be off!"

"Oh, OK. Give Spike a big hug from me!" Harmony called after him as he retreated. "Tell him…" The door swung closed behind him and Harmony sat back with a disappointed sigh. "Tell him I miss him," she said quietly. She sat staring blankly at her computer for a long while, then smiled. "Blondie Bear working on secret missions! Wow!" Smiling happily, she picked up a bottle of nail varnish and proceeded to touch up her polish. Well, really, a potential secret agent couldn't be seen with chipped nails.


	19. Nineteen

Buffy hated laundry days. With the two new slayers who had taken up temporary residence in the attic room, six people were crammed into Giles' far from spacious house; the only way to manage things was a rota, and today was Buffy's day for the laundry. She stomped moodily around the empty house, collecting up laundry bags and lugging them down to the washing machine. _No fair!_ The others were all over at the Council offices doing fun stuff like training and researching and_… hell, even cataloguing was better than this!_ No-one to talk to, or make her coffee, or give her an excuse not to do her chores. She'd even welcome Andrew's presence, but he had taken himself off back home to sort out some highly spurious-sounding family crisis. _Like a family in crisis would send for Andrew._ Buffy snorted. She hesitated at Andrew's door, drew a deep breath and went inside.

The room was surprisingly tidy, despite every available surface being covered with strange little figurines and models. She picked one up and peered at it. What the heck was a Boba Fett anyway? She shook her head, carefully replaced the figure and looked around for Andrew's laundry bag. No sign. Muttering to herself she dropped to her knees to look under the bed. Nope. No bag, but her eye was caught by a pile of papers. She looked guiltily over her shoulder and pulled them out, confidently expecting to find some of Andrew's 'special' magazines. Last time she'd looked there were some pretty hot guys in them. But it wasn't a magazine. She felt a sudden clutching pain in her chest. Grasped in her hand, somewhat more worn and dog-eared than she remembered it, was the thesis on Spike.

She'd been working hard on not thinking about him; not acknowledging to herself or anyone how much she missed having him around. Sometimes she almost convinced herself it didn't hurt. She flicked through the thesis slowly, her eyes travelling almost unseeingly over the pages, until the unexpected handwriting caught her eye. She frowned. So, Andrew had been making his own notes; extensive ones too. She sat, back to the bed, and began to read.

_xxxxxxx_

Hours later, Dawn found Buffy sitting at the kitchen table, pale faced and staring at nothing. A long-cold cup of coffee sat on the table next to a pile of papers.

"Buffy?" Dawn frowned. "You OK?"

Buffy blinked and turned her head slowly to look at Dawn. "OK?" She seemed a million miles away, her eyes unfocussed. "I…" She looked down at the papers. "Have you seen these?"

Dawn sat opposite her. "It's the stuff about Spike; the thesis thingy." She frowned. "I thought Giles told Andrew to get rid of that…"

"Well, he didn't." Buffy turned the pages slowly. "Actually, he's been adding to it." She found a handwritten page and turned it for Dawn to see. "Look."

"Oh." Dawn swallowed. "Well, you know Andrew - vivid imagination and all."

"I want you to read it." Her voice was eerily calm.

"Buffy, I…"

"Please." Buffy said softly. "Read it."

Dawn looked at her pleadingly. "Buffy…" Buffy locked eyes with her, her face set. With a sigh, Dawn began to read.

They sat in complete silence, broken only by the noise of turning pages. Dawn felt her heart sink as she read. Andrew played storyteller, biographer for the vampire hero. She read Andrew's theories about Spike and Buffy's history, about Spike's return and their final months in Sunnydale, of the way Buffy had trusted and relied on Spike, and the heroism of his end in the horror of the Hellmouth. His memory for the facts and fantasies, truths and half-truths he'd picked up about Spike was remarkable. Despite occasional forays into romance and melodrama, Andrew had been nothing if not thorough. And now Buffy had read this. Dawn turned the last page feeling sick to the heart, staring blankly at it long after she'd finished reading.

"Well?" Buffy's voice was taut with tension.

Dawn shrugged. "Like I said – Andrew has a vivid imagination. This is good! They could probably make a TV show out of it or something. 'Spike – Vampire with a Soul'. Probably get itself a cult following." She tried a smile.

"Don't." There was the glint of tears in Buffy's eyes. "Don't lie to me. Is this true?"

Dawn looked at the conflict and hurt in Buffy's eyes and felt like the worse sort of traitor. _Enough_. "Well, there wasn't quite so much posing heroically against the moonlight, and a bit less of the bare-chested fighting, but…" She closed her eyes briefly. "Yes. It's true."

"I don't remember." Buffy's voice shook.

"Oh, God, Buffy, I'm sorry…"

"How could I not remember _this_?" There was an edge of hysteria in her voice. "What's happened to me?"

"I'll get Giles…" Dawn moved to stand.

"No!" Buffy's voice was sharp. "No. _You_ tell me." Tears started in her eyes. "I want you to tell me."

So Dawn did. Head down and feeling sick to the soul she told Buffy about The Immortal's spell, about their decision not to try and reverse it, about Spike's distress, about how he'd finally accepted the need to wait. Buffy listened in silence, her eyes locked on Dawn, forcing her to continue each time she hesitated, giving no quarter. Eventually Dawn stumbled to a halt and there was only the sound of the kitchen clock ticking solemnly. Dawn looked over at her sister. She was staring at her hands folded in front of her on the table top, her body tense.

Buffy gave a small, tight shake of her head. "The dreams… I thought I was losing my mind." She looked at Dawn, her face etched with lines of stress. "I saw it. No," she frowned "I – _felt_ it. The dreams were so vivid, so confusing… I couldn't understand. And Spike... the way I felt about him, the… the _strength_ of it..." She gave a bitter laugh. "Have you any idea how _hard_ that was?"

"It didn't need to be hard…"

"Didn't _need_? I'm the slayer. Remember? She who kills the evil, undead, pointy-toothed ones? That's who I _am_. So, along comes a vampire I know nothing about and I'm not with the slaying and I'm feeling…" she shook her head in frustration, "I don't know what I'm feeling, because what I _think_ I'm feeling doesn't make any sort of sense – it's _wrong_ on all sorts of levels."

"_Why_? Why was it wrong?"

Buffy shook her head in disbelief. "How can you ask me that? Dawn, he's a vampire. Worse, he kills slayers."

"He _killed_ slayers. Past tense. He changed."

"Because he has a soul. He has a _soul_! Why did no-one think to tell me that?"

"The _soul_? Spike isn't just his soul! You didn't know he had a soul and still…" Dawn closed her eyes and took a calming breath. Now was hardly the time. She started again, her voice subdued. "Spike didn't want us to. He didn't want to explain. It would have been so complicated. Buffy…"

"Explain? Why would it matter? It's not like I haven't met the odd vampire with a soul before."

"Spike was different. It wasn't just a lame old gypsy curse; he _chose_ to get his soul." Dawn sighed. "He got it for you." She looked up at her sister's stunned expression. "Buffy, you and Spike… you had a history, before all this stuff in here. I mean," She picked up Andrew's notes, "Andrew hints at it, but he doesn't know. I'm not sure any of us knows the whole story."

"History? He got a soul for me? _Why_?" Buffy was struggling to cope.

"Buffy, I can't… _please_." Dawn looked down at her hands unhappily.

Buffy's voice took on a brittle, forced lightness. "So – I have a _history_ with a formerly evil, undead ex-killer of slayers who got a soul for me, and… and then died to save the world. And a history that apparently involved a certain degree of smoochiness. Something tells me that can't possibly be an uncomplicated story." She laughed harshly. "And you all didn't think I deserved to have those memories?"

Dawn winced. "I'm sorry."

Buffy was silent for a moment. "This is a spell, right? So, Willow can break it."

"We don't know if she can." Dawn wrung her hands unhappily. "Willow said there are risks. Big risks. And Giles thought we should wait until we…"

"Giles _thought_?" Buffy looked at Dawn, her eyes hard. "Giles had no right. None of you had the right to decide what I was and was not allowed to remember."

"We did what we thought was best." Giles said quietly from the kitchen doorway.

Buffy's voice was tightly controlled. "How long have you been there?"

"Long enough." Giles sighed heavily and came over to the table. He picked up Andrew's notes, flicking through the pages. "Someone needs to teach the boy basic punctuation; I despair of the American high school system..."

Buffy stopped him. "Willow has to reverse this."

Giles sat down opposite her. "Willow isn't sure she can. We have discussed this in great detail – we are still discussing it. There is a… a great deal of risk in breaking the spell. If anything goes wrong it could prove disastrous."

"Disastrous?"

Giles looked at her intently. "There is a risk that it could cause irreparable damage to your memory. At worst, there is a real possibility it could destroy your mind."

"_Could_? Care to quantify 'could'?"

"Willow has been working with the coven to try and find a way of performing the spell safely and there have been some advances but… but the risk still stands. There is a real possibility that you will suffer some form of permanent damage."

Buffy sat in silence staring at Andrew's writing, a small frown creasing her forehead. "And there is a real possibility that I won't and that I'll remember all of this," she said eventually.

"Yes…" Giles allowed grudgingly, "but…"

"Then I need to talk to Willow." Buffy stood up. "We need to do this."

Giles looked at her in dismay. "You're prepared to put your _mind_ in jeopardy for this? For… for _him_? There is no need to take the risk. We can tell you what happened and then if…"

Buffy shook her head. "This isn't just about Spike! I don't want your second-hand memories. I want _mine_!" She glared at Giles and her voice was ice-cold. "You had no right."

Giles sighed and closed his eyes. "I did what I thought was best for you."

Buffy looked at him for a long moment. "You were wrong," she said eventually. Turning her back on the watcher she faced Dawn. "Call Willow. I want her here. Soon as she can." Dawn nodded wordlessly. Without a backward glance, Buffy left the room. There was the sound of her footsteps on the stairs and the slam of her bedroom door, and then silence.

Eventually Giles sighed. "Even now her feelings for him are colouring her judgement. This is madness. I don't want…"

"Don't." Dawn refused to meet his eye. "Don't even." She stood up. "I'm going to call Willow. It's time we straightened out this mess." She paused at the doorway. "And Giles?" She looked back at the watcher. "You will not screw this up. You hear?" She turned and left him.

Alone in the empty kitchen, Giles took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. Why was it where Spike was concerned, Buffy refused to see _sense_? Years of training, all her ingrained slayer instincts, all his teaching, his advice – ignored. He sighed. Despite everything, there was still a connection – try as he might he couldn't pretend he hadn't seen it. _And that way lies a future filled with pain. I don't want that for you._ He felt a bitter stab of pain. _If only Wood had succeeded._ He opened his eyes. In front of him on the table, Andrew's account of the fight at the Hellmouth stared up at him. _But if he had…?_ It occurred to him he didn't really know what had truly happened; he had been assiduous in his avoidance of the subject other than the briefest of outlines for the Watcher's records. He had wanted to spare Buffy, to avoid her having to relive what even he had to accept must have been a painful experience. But honestly? He avoided the subject… he avoided Spike's role… to spare _himself_. Slowly he replaced his glasses, and began to read.


	20. Twenty

It had all seemed such a good idea when he started out, lounging comfortably in the extra-wide first class seats of the transatlantic 777 – seats that folded flat down like a real bed he'd discovered within minutes of take-off, and then up again… and down and... The stewardess had politely reminded him that, really, it was best to keep the seat in the upright position until the seatbelt lights were extinguished… _sir._ He choose delicacies from the parchment pages of the sumptuous in-flight menu, watched them being cooked by a white-suited chef, and washed down the lobster timbale with champagne and the filet mignon with well-chilled cola. He had his own TV and a huge choice of movies and the most up-to-the minute computer games. And he was pretty sure the vanity bag with its collection of neat little bottles of expensive toiletries, toothbrush and razor was his to keep – but just in case he stowed it secretively in his hand luggage, because really, it was _very_ cool. Yes, Andrew decided, he could get used to this life-style; although he had been kind of disappointed that they wouldn't let him on the flight deck.

But the further east he travelled, the smaller the planes became until now he was strapped into a small prop plane that rattled ominously, pitched and yawed alarmingly and smelt of wet dog and boiled cabbage. His reminder to the steward (who turned out to be the co-pilot) that he was a first class passenger earned him a raised eyebrow and a packet of peanuts well past its 'best before' date. The plane suddenly hit an air pocket and dropped sickeningly, every one of its aged rivets protesting loudly, and Andrew huddled miserably on his narrow, hard seat and prayed. When they had landed and finally bumped to a halt and he his luggage had been deposited unceremoniously on the worn tarmac, he had to fight the urge to throw himself onto the ground and kiss it vehemently. Picking up his bag, he limped painfully over to the terminus building.

The immigration official looked at Andrew laconically. He slowly returned his gaze to Andrew's passport, and studied it while chewing thoughtfully on the edge of his huge and bristling moustache. He looked back at Andrew. Andrew smiled nervously. "Wolfram and Hart." The man's voice was deep and rumbling, his English heavily accented.

"Yes." Andrew squeaked.

The man nodded slowly. "So, what is it we have done to deserve three people from Wolfram and Hart to visit us in so short a time, huh?" he shrugged. "One, she go, another she come."

As Andrew hadn't the first idea who 'she' might be; he decided an ingratiating smile was probably the best answer. The smile slowly faded in the face of the immigration official's steady stare. The man picked up a stamp and looked at it thoughtfully. "I do not like Wolfram and Hart. I do not like what they do to my town, to my people. But – my superiors they say you must pass." The stamp thudded down on Andrew's passport venomously. The official looked up at Andrew with hard, expressionless eyes. "You make no trouble, OK?" He handed back the passport. "Have a nice day."

Andrew picked up his bag and fled.

If the flight had been rough, it was nothing compared to the taxi ride to the hotel. Initially impressed by the huge black Mercedes, Andrew settled down for the trip on the worn leather seats with a relieved sigh. Any sense of relief was quickly dissipated when they lurched out onto the road. Either the car had no brakes, or the driver was reluctant to use them. Instead he preferred to dodge around any obstacles at breakneck speed, one hand on the steering wheel, the other holding a mobile phone to an ear, while deeply involved in a heated argument with whoever it was had called him. Their erratic progress wasn't helped by the big car's lack of suspension, and its alarming habit of swaying sickeningly around corners and crashing painfully into potholes. Once again, when both he and his luggage were deposited outside the hotel, a white faced Andrew had to fight the urge to kiss the ground.

The heavily made-up, elderly woman at the large desk peered at him carefully. "You are with Wolfram and Hart?" She sounded less than convinced.

"I'm a colleague of… of…" Andrew hesitated, not entirely sure of the correct term of address, "Comrade Spike," he managed eventually.

The woman gave a snort of laughter. "The vampire?" She looked Andrew up and down critically. "His other _colleague_ was prettier." She shrugged. "You want room?"

"Umm… I guess…" Andrew hesitated.

"You want adjoining room, yes? Make pretence, like the pretty one, huh?" She smiled indulgently and shook her head. "That one – he has much _appetite_!" She held out a key. "You want I change the sheets?"

Andrew blanched. "Erm… I think… probably… yes." The woman shrugged again, muttering under her breath in her native tongue. Andrew swallowed nervously. "Do you know if he's in his room… maybe?"

"I am his keeper?" the woman glared at him.

"No! I just…" Andrew was suddenly feeling very lost and very lonely and _very_ far from home.

At his stricken look, the woman relented slightly. "He is out. Is a big town. Many bars. He could be anywhere. Wait. I do room, you rest, I tell him when he get back." She turned away. "Now, I get sheets." She disappeared into a back room to the accompaniment of much muttered, grumbling complaint. Andrew stood uncertainly in the silence of the empty entrance hall and waited. A car drew up outside. There was the sound of good-natured conversation, and then retreating footsteps. Andrew sighed. A few minutes later, the door of the hotel swung open. A tall, black haired man crossed the entrance hall without glancing in Andrew's direction and climbed the stairs quickly. Andrew watched him, sighed again - and waited. He looked up at the darkened portrait on the wall behind the desk. The heavily-jowled man in the uniform of some long forgotten army glared down at him disapprovingly. He looked away quickly. Thrusting his hands into the pockets of his trousers and whistling tunelessly, he strolled as nonchalantly as he was able back across the marble floor to the hotel doorway and stepped outside.

Funnily enough, it was warmer outside, despite the night frost that was beginning to form on the parked cars and the windows of the deserted shops. A few heavily muffled people walked briskly past, heads down, faces hidden. Andrew huddled miserably in the hotel doorway, shivering in his unsuitable suit, and waited. He was just wondering what the first symptoms of hypothermia might be, and whether frostbite was the cause of his numb big toe, when a familiar leather-clad figure, blond hair shinning in the weak light from the streetlamps, appeared from a side road.

"Spike!" Andrew's natural joy at seeing Spike was massively compounded by his earlier feelings of loneliness. He ran down the street and flung his arms around the stunned vampire.

"Oh, bloody hell!" Spike tried in vain to detach Andrew from around his neck. "What the _hell_ are you doing here? Will you let… _go_!"

"Spike!" Andrew's face was buried in Spike's neck, and he wasn't showing any signs of letting go. "I'm so happy to see you!"

"_Andrew_!" Spike's struggles to escape became more frantic.

"Oh, how sweet!" A deep rumbling voice, heavy with menace, sounded from behind them. Spike and Andrew turned as a large, bulky, warty-skinned demon stepped out of the shadows. "So, the vampire has a boyfriend? Well, isn't that nice."

"What's that?" Andrew whispered nervously to Spike.

Spike sighed heavily. "_That_ is a Kvaryl demon who's been followin' me for the past half hour and who I suspect is just a little pissed off at me beating up his boss yesterday. I was just waiting for him to get close enough – element of surprise an' all."

"Oops." Andrew grinned at him weakly. "I guess I just messed up your plans."

The demon gave a growling laugh. "No matter, little one. Your boyfriend there never stood a chance anyway."

"Oh, yeah?" Spike squared up to the demon, body naturally poised for fight, head tilted in challenge. "You think? You wanna go ask your boss about that one?"

The demon laughed again. "The chieftain is old, and grows slow. Clearly his time has come if he can be taken in combat by a…" the demon paused, "…_pedik_."

"Well, maybe you'd like to try and do better, huh?" Spike raised his hands and gave the demon the come on. "Feelin' lucky? C'mon… Oh, what the…?" Spike gave a groan of despair as Andrew leaped forward to take up position between him and the demon.

"No-one calls Spike a _pedik_… whatever that is. I'll bet it's insulting. It _is_ insulting right?" Andrew looked up at the demon who nodded bemusedly. "You want Spike; you have to come through me." He struck a pose – a less-than-elegant imitation of Bruce Lee in a travel-wrinkled suit.

Spike took hold of Andrew's shoulder. "Andrew, for fuck's sake! This isn't a game!"

"It's OK! I've been training!" Andrew refused to be budged. "I am not afraid of you," he told the demon. "I am the black tiger. I have learned to ride the wind. Fear me," he growled with something approaching menace.

The demon laughed. "Ha! Your _kozel_, she has spirit, no?"

Spike looked despairingly at Andrew, then shook his head – well, worst that could happen was Andrew'd be knocked out with the first punch and then he'd just have to step in and tidy up. And just maybe it would teach him a lesson. "OK. Go to it." He folded his arms and leaned against a wall. "Knock yourself out."

The demon grinned hugely and took a step towards Andrew. "I will enjoy this," he growled.

The look of defiance on Andrew's face was rapidly overtaken by a look of sheer terror as the big demon got closer. He swallowed hard, fought against the urge to curl up and close his eyes and wished he was somewhere else. "That's enough, demon!" he howled, and raised his fist.

Even with his finely tuned vampire senses Spike barely saw the punch coming. Fist met jaw with a bone-crunching thud that made Spike wince. He pushed himself away from the wall and stood looking down at the crumpled body of the demon in stunned silence. "Well, bugger me!" he said admiringly.

An equally stunned Andrew smiled weakly. He opened his eyes looked down at the demon, which looked even larger and bulkier sprawling at his feet, and his face blanched rapidly. He blinked slowly, then looked at Spike and raised his hand. "I think it's broken," he whimpered. "The master didn't warn me it would hurt! Oww!"

The demon gave a weak groan and Spike ensured its silence with a swift kick to the head. He took hold of Andrew's hand and examined his knuckles. "S'not broken. Just bruised. That's his blood, not yours. That's why it's purple." He shot Andrew a concerned look as he swayed alarmingly. "Oh, for…" Andrew's face had taken on a decidedly green colouration as the enormity of what he had just done hit him. Spike rolled his eyes. "Sit down. Put your head between your knees or something." Andrew peered at him woozily. "On second thoughts… maybe a drink."

"I don't think I want a drink." Andrew protested weakly.

"Not you. Me. Can you walk?" Andrew took an unsteady step. "Oh, bloody hell! C'mon." Spike heaved Andrew's arm over his shoulder and steadied him with an arm around his waist. "Hang on to me."

Andrew whimpered. In truth, being this close to Spike wasn't helping his wooziness at all.

They limped up to Spike's room, running the gauntlet of sniggered comments and gestures from the _babushka_ at the desk that even Andrew with his complete lack of Russian was convinced were less than polite, and almost certainly rude. Up in his room, Spike pointed Andrew at the washbasin, poured himself a drink and took a large swallow. Andrew scrubbed the demon blood off his knuckles and gradually giddy fear and revulsion gave way to equally giddy pride at his own reckless bravery. He'd really done it! Single-handedly taken down what was probably the biggest demon ever and almost certainly saved Spike's life. By the time he dried his hands he was starting to think maybe Han Solo – after he'd taken up with the Rebel Alliance, naturally.

"OK, so how the hell did you know where I was?" Spike poured another measure into the tooth glass and settled himself in a chair with the bottle.

"I went to see Angel…" Andrew admired his reflection in the mirror, smoothing his hair back into a less tousled, more heroic style.

"_Angel_ told you?"

"Umm… not exactly. He wasn't over-helpful."

"Figures." Spike snorted.

"So I tricked Harmony into tracking you down for me."

"You did?" Spike was seeing sides to Andrew he'd never suspected. OK, so Harmony was a few shades beyond blonde, but then Andrew hadn't exactly got a track record for cunning.

"Yeah." Andrew tried out a sneer in the mirror. "The bimbo sang like a canary." _Not bad!_ He turned to Spike and strolled across the room, trying hard for loose-limbed nonchalance. Spike raised an eyebrow and held out a glass of whisky. Andrew took it, raised it in salute, took a deep swallow and then collapsed onto the bed in a paroxysm of coughing. "Yeww! What is that?"

Spike peered at the label. "Claims it's whisky, but somehow I doubt it ever saw the Highlands – least not the ones in Scotland." He shrugged and took a drink from the bottle. "So, I know how you got here, question remains as to why?"

Andrew took a more cautious sip of his drink and suppressed a grimace. "To get you to come back with me."

"And why would I want to do that?" Spike topped up Andrew's drink. "Nothing in London for me, and last time I was there I got the impression I was less than welcome."

"You must come back, because Buffy needs you and Dawn says you have to. I think it would be neat if you did, too."

"Has Buffy asked for me?"

"No…" Andrew allowed reluctantly.

"Well then." Spike shrugged. "She doesn't need me."

"She does too!" Andrew stamped his foot in frustration. "What is it with you two? She needs you and won't admit it and you need her and won't go to her! It's just silly! If _I_ loved someone I'd follow them to the ends of the earth," he blushed suddenly and looked away, "wherever that might be."

Spike gave him a bemused look, then shook his head. "Yeah, well. Done all that; never works out to the good. If she wants me she can come find me." The note of defiance was somewhat marred by the beginnings of a pout.

"You can't just give up! Buffy didn't mean what she said. And she's really been strange since you left… I mean – stranger than usual. Dawn says she's not sleeping and she keeps going all distant and moody. Dawn says Buffy needs you." Andrew struggled on valiantly. "And besides, Buffy can't come and find you because she doesn't know where you are."

"So why didn't you just tell her?"

"Because I… um… it was…" Andrew stumbled to a halt. "Oh, _please_ just come back with me!" Andrew wasn't above begging.

"No."

"Please?"

"No!"

"_Please…_?" Andrew wasn't above wheedling either.

"NO! Look, we're better off without each other, OK? 'Sides, got me a job now. Things to do, places to go, demons to terrorise. Thrown in my lot with Wolfram and Hart for better or for worse and the notice period is kind of for ever. I've got enough on my plate without pissing off the Evil Empire."

"But…"

"No!" Spike snarled. "Enough, OK?"

Andrew subsided rapidly at the flash of demon-yellow in Spike's eyes. He sat in silence and watched Spike staring moodily into space. "She misses you," he murmured quietly.

"Andrew, for fuck's sake!"

"OK" Andrew pouted, downed the last of his drink in one and regretted it as the raw spirit seared his throat and brought tears to his eyes. When the coughing fit subsided he looked over at Spike timidly. "Can I come with you?" he asked.

"No."

"Why not? I can help you with the fighting."

"No."

"I can do it. I really knocked out that demon, didn't I?"

Spike relented with a sigh. "Yeah. You did good."

"I can't wait to tell my Shaolin Master." Andrew yawned sleepily and lay back on the bed.

"Sure he'll be impressed. I think maybe next time you should keep the eyes open, though."

"I'll work on it…" Andrew murmured and closed his eyes. "We could work together. Vampire and man against the forces of evil; demon fighters extraordinaire. I could get a leather coat like yours – it could be our uniform. The Men in Black Leather…" he smiled dreamily.

"Yeah… maybe…"

"Cool…" Andrew sighed happily and fell asleep.

For a long time Spike sat quietly, listening to the soft sounds of Andrew's sleeping breath. Then he stood up and folded the blankets over Andrew, tucking him in tightly. Andrew murmured in his sleep, smiling softly to himself. Spike shook his head, pulled his black sports bag from under the bed and quietly let himself out of the room.


	21. Twenty one

It was a very different Buffy to the one she'd left weeks before that Willow faced in Giles' study. She seemed to have aged suddenly – there were lines around her eyes and mouth that Willow had never seen before and shadows under her eyes almost dark enough to be bruises. Buffy stood, back to the fireplace, arms wrapped around herself as if cold despite the fire burning at her back, face set and unreadable. But it didn't take Wicca sensitivity to feel the aura of anger and hurt that emanated from her – it was almost palpable.

Giles sat facing her across his desk, with Willow perched uneasily beside him on a hard-backed chair. Dawn stood uncomfortably between the desk and Buffy, her tensely folded arms mirroring her sister's, her eyes flitting anxiously between the other three, waiting nervously.

"So?" Buffy hugged herself tightly as if afraid she might fall apart.

"Buffy…" Giles began.

"No." She gave a terse shake of her head. "Not now." She looked at Willow. "Did the coven help?"

Willow shifted nervously. "We've made some progress, really we have. I mean, we've been working on the linking and the getting out and the grounding, and I've really been focussing on focussing… if you… see what I mean" Willow smiled weakly. "I'm really focussed, really centred now… or at least, I can be. Much better. We thought we'd need to change my grounding stone, but it wasn't the stone, just the way I was using it, which is good because, you know, it can take _ages_ to relearn the tuning for a different crystal lattice and sometimes…" Willow caught the look in Buffy's eyes and stopped. "I can get out more safely," she summarised quickly.

"So there's no risk to you?"

"N-no, not really," Willow frowned unhappily. _No, no risk from the spell…_ "But…"

"Then we try."

"There's still a risk to you." Giles' voice was determinedly reasonable.

"It's my choice."

"Yes. Quite. But you should be aware of the risk you are taking…"

"For memories I'm better off without? We've been through this."

He shook his head. "You should be aware of the risks because when you do this, and I have no doubt you will do this, you should be prepared. If you are fully aware of what might happen, you may be able to help Willow if anything does go wrong." Giles looked up at her. "Forewarned is most definitely forearmed."

Buffy held his eyes for a moment then nodded. "Willow?"

All eyes turned to Willow, who fidgeted uncomfortably. "There's a risk that trying to rewire some memories could interfere with other memories. So you could be no better off – you could just be swapping these lost memories for other ones, or messing up some memories so much that they won't make a lot of sense, and there's no way of knowing which ones will be affected." She shrugged. "You could end up worse off."

"Is that the major risk?"

"Well… umm... not exactly." She bit her lip. "The really, really scary thing is that the mind doesn't much like being messed with and a mistake could just set off a chain reaction that would… well, you wouldn't mind about a few missing memories, because… you… kinda… wouldn't have a _mind _to mind with." She looked at Buffy unhappily. "It's a real possibility with this sort of spell."

Buffy was silent for a moment. "OK," she said eventually. "I know the risks." She sighed. "Willow, I know you. I know what you're capable of and I would trust you with my life. Can you do it?"

Willow's eyes met Buffy's. "I know there's stuff I can do to help reduce the risks. I–I'm pretty sure I'll know if I can't do it and get out before it's too late."

"But can you do it?" Buffy's voice was insistent.

Willow drew a deep breath. "I think so."

"When?"

"I'll need to do a purification…"

"_When?_"

"Tomorrow?" Willow offered weakly.

"Then we do it." Buffy nodded. "Tomorrow." With a final glance at Giles, Buffy left them.

"It seems that's decided then," Giles sighed.

Willow found Buffy later, sitting alone on the worn wooden bench in Giles' yard, the blanket from Spike's bed wrapped around her against the chill night air.

"I brought you this." She held out a cup, smiling hopefully.

"Thanks." Buffy offered her a weak smile in return and took the cup, cradling in her hands. She sniffed at the fragrant steam and frowned. "Hey! This smells familiar! Isn't this what you gave me to help me sleep that time?"

"It's the same thing." Willow gave an embarrassed smile. "Only I lied about it just being for sleeping. At least – it's a bit more than that. Herbs to help with the mind opening thing. Sorry."

Buffy sipped at the tea and grimaced. "Yeww. About as bad as I remember it."

"Buffy…" Willow began hesitantly. "Buffy, I'm sorry. We just thought…"

"You thought what you were doing was for the best, yeah." Buffy stared down into her cup. "You all had no right."

Willow bowed her head. "I know. I'm sorry."

"You know, I'm sort of surprised you hadn't learned, given what we've been through. Giles," she shrugged, "kind of given up on ever expecting him not to try and sort my life for me the way he sees fit. Once a watcher… But you, Will. You're my _friend_. I told you how I felt about things, about how confusing it all was. Didn't you just think that just maybe I should have been told, been the one to decide?"

There was anger in her voice; an edge to her words that made Willow wince, but it was the sadness that touched her most. "You're right. I should've stood up to Giles. We should've…" she wrung her hands. "I should've spoken up – not been so much the witchy wimp. My bad."

Buffy shook her head. "It's done now. We just have to put it right." She sighed and shifted her position on the bench to make room for Willow, wrapping the blanket around them both when she sat down. They sat together in silence, each lost in their thoughts.

Willow bit her lip. "Buffy, there's something you should know. I…"

"You know you said that putting the missing stuff back might mean I lose other memories?" Buffy interrupted. "Do you think I could give you a list of things I'd _like_ to forget? I mean, could you rub out, say, Parker? Or the stuff I said to that boy I had a crush on in third grade? Or that green dress…"

Willow smiled. "No, you're stuck with them. Besides, memories like that are all good for the character building."

"Can't help thinking my character would be built a lot better without the cringing embarrassment factor." Buffy gave a self-depreciating smile.

"Buffy…" Willow began again.

Buffy stopped her with a shake of her head. "Will, if – if you lost your memories of Tara, if someone took them away, wouldn't you do anything – risk anything – to get them back?"

Willow felt the sharp pain that still came with the memory of Tara, of her loss, of the love that still burned in her heart. "Yes," she said simply.

"So, can you do this? Please?"

Willow looked up into Buffy's eyes, at the hurt and hope that shone there. _It wasn't right…_ _not right to destroy that hope_… _it was going to be all right… it was… really…_ "Yes," she said softly, biting down her fears, "I can do it."

"Thank you." Buffy smiled. "See? I'll even drink this awful tea." She took a deep drink from the cup.

"Speaking of which, I have a ritual to perform." Willow stood up, stretching and yawning. "And you need to get some rest, too. And Dawn is possibly going to burst if she doesn't get to talk to you."

"Mmm. Not sure I'm ready for that. I'll hide out here a while longer." Buffy snuggled deeper under the blanket. "Willow?" She looked up at her friend. "It's going to be OK."

"Yeah." Willow smiled, struggling to suppress the gnawing anxiety in the pit of her stomach. She mustered as much confidence as she was able and smiled. "It's going to be fine." She turned away and a nervous frown creased her forehead. _It was going to be fine._ She was going to do this. And as to the scary thing, she wasn't going to let it beat her. Grasping her resolution tightly to her, she set off to prepare the ritual.

Buffy watched Willow disappear into the house and close the door behind her, heard the reassuring tone of her muffled words to Dawn, their voices retreating deeper into the house. She looked down into her cup and smiled. "So, are you just going to lurk there all night, or are you going to come down?"

Spike jumped down from the shadows at the top of the wall. "Wasn't lurking. I was standing about. It's a whole different vibe."

"On top of a wall?" Buffy looked up and felt a sudden sharp tug deep inside at the sight of him, an almost overwhelming mixture of hesitant happiness and relief.

"Just passing."

"Yeah, right." She looked pointedly at the bag in his hand and shook her head. "How long have you been there?"

"Long enough." He shrugged awkwardly. "Heard what Red had to say. How did you find out?"

"Andrew." Buffy gave a wry smile.

"Silly sod _told_ you? But…"

"No – not exactly. He's not here..."

"No, left him in the tender care of this _babushka_ I know." Spike grinned. "Long story," he added at Buffy's raised eyebrow.

"I'm sure it is," she said dryly. "But he did tell me – sort of. He's been writing your biography. You should read it some time. It's very… colourful."

"I'll bet it is!" Spike shook his head. "You don't want to believe all you read, 'specially if it's the boy's work."

Buffy smiled at him. "I think maybe Andrew has a bit of a cru…"

"Hey!" Spike pointed an accusing finger at her. "I told you about that before!"

She pressed her lips together at the sudden prick of tears in her eyes. "You probably did," she said softly, "I don't remember."

"No." He winced. "Sorry." He settled down on the bench beside her with a sigh. "Must've been a bit of a surprise, readin' all that."

"Kind of." She gave a soft snort of laughter. "But then again…" she looked off across the yard "if I think hard about it – really hard – there are sort of… holes… strange little blank areas in what I remember about things, not big enough to jump out at me as wrong on their own, but if I think about it… yeah, wrong. And then there were the dreams." She frowned. "Actually, finding out was kind of a relief."

"And now?"

"And now we're going to break the spell, and I'm going to get back what's mine." She turned to look at him. "What's ours," she added softly.

"You sure you want to go through with this?" He was watching her quietly, blue eyes full of concern. "I mean, didn't old Rupert say there were risks?"

"Yes." She looked away, jaw set. "Tomorrow Willow's going to put it right. And then I'm going to go do something excruciatingly painful to a certain Italian immortal." She looked back at him with a half smile. "You wanna play too?"

"Count me in." He grinned savagely. "Always up for a nice bit of revenge." He gave her a puzzled frown. "You seem very calm about all this. I thought you'd be more angry. Was kind of gettin' myself ready for a good pasting."

"Is that how…?" _How I was with you?_ She shook her head and sighed. "I get that everyone was just doing what they thought best. But you know," she looked up at him, "I'd kind of like to be allowed to make my own decisions once in a while. I'm not angry any more, just tired. Besides, I'm not the only one who has the right to be angry." She paused. "Spike, what I said…"

"It doesn't matter."

"It does." She looked away, down at the ground. "It was like… like some sort of mantra. I was confused and angry and the… the words just… just came out."

"Yeah, well. Slayer training and all." He fought back a twinge of hurt. "No reason for you to think otherwise."

"No… I guess… But the thing was, even when I was saying it, I didn't believe it." She flashed a tentative look up at him, her eyes falling away again quickly. "Something kept telling me it was wrong… very wrong. Which made it all kind of more confusing, because I really had no idea what that something was, but whatever it was it was a pretty strong something and a something that was really…" she paused, lost for words.

"Something?" Spike offered.

She looked up at him with a half smile. "I'm not explaining this very well, am I?"

"Well, it's…" Spike began encouragingly. He paused and gave a bemused smile. "No, actually, not so much."

"Guess I'm more tired than I thought. I should probably go get some rest before tomorrow." She stood up and looked down at him uncertainly. "Spike… you will stay, won't you? I mean… Dawn kept your room all ready and waiting. Fresh flowers and all – probably even one of those little chocolates on the pillow. Oh!" She gestured to the bench. "I stole your blanket. Sorry." She smiled tentatively. "Will you stay?"

"Well, if the nibblet's gone to all that trouble, it'd be rude not to." He gave her a crooked smile, head tilted.

She gave a relieved sigh. "Good, that's… good." His eyes held hers and there it was again – the elusive surge emotions, of a sudden need that felt half remembered, half dreamt, a feeling that flowed like electricity through her body and slipped through her mind as she strove to catch it, to hold it, to _remember_. She blinked and looked away in confusion. "Dawn will be happy you're back." She took a step toward the house, and hesitated. "Spike… can I ask you something?" _That feeling…_

"Fire away, pet."

"Did we… you know… ever…" She ground to an embarrassed halt, regretting her words the instant they left her mouth and turned to find him standing close by her side.

Spike looked away and ran his hand over the back of his neck. She watched his fingers, noticed the way the disturbed hair formed soft, unruly curls at the nape of his neck, fancied she could feel their texture with her own yearning fingertips. "Buffy…" he began.

"No!" She held up her hands, blushing furiously. "Please don't answer that!" Given the heat that coursed through her and the sudden tingling fire of her skin, she was pretty sure that her body remembered something even if her mind didn't.

Spike looked down with an abashed grin. She watched him, the way his face softened when he smiled like that, the sudden shyness, the vulnerability so at odds with the face he liked to think he presented to the world, and again she felt the pull of him in her core. But this time it wasn't so frightening, because now he was here she felt – almost _knew_ – that there must be a reason for all this, must be something locked away in the core of her memory that tied her to him despite all the certainties she had thought she had. And that the way she was feeling wasn't _wrong_, couldn't be wrong, because she would never have let herself feel this way if it was wrong… would she?

And because suddenly it seemed natural, and before she really thought about what she was doing, she kissed him – a soft brush of her lips on his, as shy as a teenager on a first date, hesitant and gentle.

She… she wasn't prepared for how the touch of him might feel, for the sudden jolt of familiarity, the flaring of passion, the shock of emotions that took her breath away with such force that she gasped and pulled back, staring up at him with stunned eyes, her heart thundering painfully in her chest.

And he… she'd never kissed him like that, never with that sweetness and vulnerability and honesty and hesitancy. All the times before – all the sad, desperate kisses, all the bruising, frantic kisses, all the knowing, passionate kisses – none had touched him as strongly as this.

"Goodnight, Spike." Her voice was little more than a whisper.

"Goodnight, Buffy." He watched her walk slowly across to the house, turn and look back.

"I'm glad you came home," she said quietly, "I'm glad you're here."

"Yeah," he returned her soft smile, "me too."

He watched her go inside, picked up the blanket and headed for the steps to the basement.


	22. Twenty two

The door from the yard to the basement was unlocked and as he opened it Spike was greeted by a familiar perfume, an evocative scent from childhood. A bunch of sweet-smelling lily-of-the-valley sat on the small table next to the bed. He smiled – a gift from Dawn, clearly, and a more optimistic message than the 'hopeless love' of her yellow tulips. He remembered his mother telling him lily-of-the-valley stood for 'return of happiness'; she had worn a small gold and enamel broach in their delicate form, a gift from his father, brought back from one of his many travels before malaria took all hope of returning happiness from her. He made to cross the room toward the flowers, paused and frowned. Giles was sitting on the stairs, leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees, waiting.

"You're back." Giles sat up with a sigh.

"Looks like." Spike watched him through narrowed eyes.

"Well, that's…" Giles took off his glasses, gave them an unnecessary polish on his jumper, and cleared his throat. "Ah… Spike…"

Spike really didn't have the time or energy for this. "Look, if this is going to be some sort of bleedin' lecture about how wrong all this is and how Buffy's better off without me then…"

"No," Giles interrupted the burgeoning tirade, "actually, it's not."

"Oh." The appeasing note in the Watcher's voice threw him. "So what is it then?"

Giles rubbed his eyes. "This isn't easy for me."

"Oh, my heart bleeds."

"I… I can't pretend that a… relationship between you and Buffy is what I would want for her..."

"You don't say," Spike drawled.

Giles ignored the interruption and replaced his glasses. "But, after careful consideration, and… and on balance, I'm prepared to admit that… ah… I… erm… may…" he ground to an uncomfortable halt.

"Spit it out, watcher." Much as Spike was enjoying seeing Giles squirm, he was intrigued as to what this admission might be. "Haven't got all night."

Giles sighed, replaced his glasses and looked over at Spike. "That I may have been wrong about you."

"Oh." _Wasn't expecting that._ Spike peered at Giles suspiciously. "Wrong about what about me?"

"It's just…I'm not condoning your past. You were a vicious killer, an unprincipled murderer who left a trail of despair and destruction…"

"Hey! Vampire! I had principles!" Spike pouted "Just not _your_ principles, is all."

"But," Giles ploughed on determinedly, "I suppose I may have let my very natural abhorrence of your past nature blind me to the possibility that maybe – just possibly – you could be… umm… otherwise."

"Otherwise." Spike looked at him blankly.

"Somewhat less… evil." Giles was clearly struggling.

"Evil." Spike wasn't letting him off that easily. "_I'm_ evil? You tried to off me!"

"I…" Giles sighed. "Yes. I admit I thought that… that not having you around seemed an attractive option..."

"You could've asked me nicely to go."

"And would you have?"

"No."

"Quite." Giles smiled grimly. "But… I am prepared to admit that in my efforts to do the best thing for Buffy, I may have been somewhat blinkered." He paused.

"Blinkered? You might put it like that. If you were aiming for colossal understatement, naturally…" Spike snorted.

Giles raised his eyes heavenwards. "Do you ever shut up?" He sighed as Spike subsided into silence and looked down at the floor. "Buffy once told me she thought you could be a good man." He looked up. "Maybe she was right."

"Maybe she was…" Spike shook his head. "And what brought about this sudden change of heart?"

"I read Andrew's notes, and..."

Spike threw up his hands in exasperation. "Andrew! You know, I don't know whether I should thank the stupid git or throttle him."

"It just made me… think… about things that I'd been ignoring. All that happened last year… and at the end – I never really talked to Buffy about it. I just wanted it… wanted _you_… forgotten."

"Well, you got what you wished for." Spike said grimly.

"And we should all be careful what we wish for." He hesitated. "Could you have got away?" he asked eventually. "From the Hellmouth?"

"No. Well – yes, I mean I wasn't tied there. But no, right then I couldn't have walked for all sorts of reasons; some of 'em I don't rightly understand myself. It was over, OK?" Spike looked away. "Wanted to see how it ended."

"Ah." Giles nodded. "I wondered…" He paused then cleared his throat, suddenly businesslike. "Well, when all of this is sorted out, perhaps we could look at bit more closely at what happened at the Hellmouth. The amulet for example; fascinating - perhaps we could… work together on that."

"You feeling alright?" Spike raised an eyebrow at him.

"Spike, I'm trying…" Giles sighed heavily.

"You're that all right." Spike shook his head. "So that's it? You honestly think I believe that I'm suddenly your best buddy? After everything? Not forgettin' the whole watcher-vampire thing. So, what – you're going to just forget years of indoctrination and… and sheer bloody-minded prejudice?"

"Oh, for heaven's… Should we just agree to make an attempt at this? For Buffy's sake, if nothing else. I'm not saying it's easy, for either of us, but… a truce."

"A truce?"

"A truce."

Spike considered. "OK." He shrugged. "So – we supposed to hug or something?"

"I don't think that will be necessary." Giles winced. He reached behind him and held up a bottle of Lagavulin and two glasses. "Maybe a toast instead."

"Now you're talking." Spike looked at the bottle appreciatively. "Good choice. Much more refined than the Laphroaig."

Giles stood up and crossed to sit next to Spike on the bed. "Funnily enough I never had you down as a scholar of the _usquebaugh_." He handed a glass to Spike and poured him a generous measure.

"Bless you; nasty cold you've got there." Spike took a sip of the spirit and rolled it around his mouth appreciatively. "Not bad. Got any Coke to put in it?" He grinned as Giles spluttered in horror. "Joke, watcher. As if I would." He raised the glass and examined the amber liquid carefully. "Did the rounds in Scotland with Angelus and the crew. We were… kinda run out of England. Got kinda run out of Scotland. too. Stroppy gits, the Scots. Anyway, developed quite a taste for the stuff while we were there."

"That would be from drinking from the whisky-sodden locals, I assume," Giles said dryly.

Spike grinned. "Bit of that. Had problems with Dru – she didn't like the taste. Very fond of the men in skirts, though, from what I remember."

Giles shook his head. "What a colourful and bizarre unlife you've lead."

Spike gazed into his drink. "Yeah, well, beats moulderin' away in a library." He looked over at Giles with a puzzled frown. "You know, there's something I've always wanted to know."

"And that would be?" Giles asked carefully.

"How did you get to be a watcher? I mean – when all the other kids wanted to be astronauts or firemen or whatever, did you wanna be hangin' out with teenage girl superheroes and demons? Or was there some sort of careers fair?"

"Actually, I always wanted to be a fighter pilot. Or possibly a grocer. It is, as they say," Giles topped up Spike's drink, "a long story..."

_xxxxxxx_

The bottle was almost empty by the time Giles made his unsteady way back up the stairs. Spike watched him go, and shook his head. A whole family of Watchers, huh? That must have made for some very interesting dinner time conversations. Still, old Giles clearly had hidden depths if his stories about his time at Oxford were anything to go by, and, Spike had to admit grudgingly, he had a passable taste in music for a boring old git.

He pulled his T shirt over his head, examined it critically, decided it would do another day and slung it on the bed. The jeans were about to follow suit when a squeak from the stairs made him refasten them hastily.

"Bloody hell, nibblet!" He turned to Dawn with a frown. "Doesn't anyone knock around here?"

"Sorry!" A highly embarrassed Dawn was hovering nervously half way down to the cellar steps. "It's just Willow told me you were back and I've been waiting in the kitchen for Giles to come up for _hours_ and then when he did come up he was all… strange… sort of wobbly and giggly and have you two been drinking? Because, honestly he's pretty much un-Giles like right now and now he's cooking bacon and eggs and singing something about naked ears being tortured by sirens – which is pretty much how _I_ felt – and… well, I think he's _dancing_ and it's almost two a.m. and Buffy is asleep and Willow is doing something strange with herbs and things and…" she stopped, rushed across the cellar and threw her arms around him, "and… I missed you."

Spike shook off his bemusement and put his arms around her. "Missed you, too."

Dawn rested her head against his chest and hugged him hard. It felt so good to have him back, to have the reassurance of him here in the flesh… _the very smooth, very cool…_ she pulled back suddenly with a flush of embarrassment. _Damn those teenage fantasies…_ "You were getting ready for bed."

"No – s'OK." Spike quickly pulled on his t-shirt and Dawn experienced a strange mixture of disappointment and relief. "Not tired."

She hovered uncomfortably. "I was scared you wouldn't come back. Even sent Andrew to find you."

"I know. Bloody well did it, too."

"He did?" Dawn was open-mouthed with astonishment. "Where is he?"

"I left him…" Spike looked decidedly guilty.

"You left him behind?" Dawn looked at him in horror. "_Alone_?"

"Well, not exactly. I made sure he was bein' looked after. Not that the kid can't look after himself. Floored a ruddy great Kvaryl demon all on his own. No messin' – single punch and wallop."

"But…" Dawn struggled to take that on board, "_Andrew _did? Whoa." She shook her head. "But why didn't you bring him back with you?"

"I needed to know what was goin' on, nibblet. Wanted to test out the lay without a bloody great puppy dog givin' me away." Spike shrugged. "He'll be OK. I made sure someone got him on the right plane home. He'll be back soon as."

"And we'll all be hearing long and loud about his adventures for the next six months." Dawn sighed. "Still think you shouldn't have left him."

"He'll be fine." Spike sat on the bed, back to the wall.

Dawn sat down next to him, earlier embarrassment forgotten, and the old companionable ease back in place.

"You spoke to Buffy? Was she OK?"

"Yeah. She seems… strangely calm about it all."

"Hmm." Dawn chewed her lip distractedly. "Willow seems edgy."

"Well, I guess she's concerned. No big surprise given she's going to be playing with her best mate's memory an' all."

Dawn frowned. "You know, I get the impression…" she paused to try and order her thoughts "well, not so much an impression, just a feeling… about Willow and the spell. I spoke to her earlier and… I think something's worrying her, but I don't think it's that – the straightening out the memories thing. I think she's confident enough about not causing any damage. But there's something else she's not telling us."

"Like what?"

Dawn shrugged unhappily. "I don't know…"

"Look, pet, if I was in a scrape like this I'd be more 'n happy to have Willow battin' on my side. Buffy trusts her. If anyone can sort this, Red can."

"Yeah… yeah, you're right." Dawn sat back on the bed, resting her head against his shoulder. "She'll sort it and Buffy will get her memories back and then the two of you can make with the smoochies again." She looked up at Spike with a smile.

"Yeah." And it was Spike's turn for the unhappy shrug, the sudden uncertainty.

"What?"

"It's just… oh, you know, me and Buffy – not exactly rainbows and butterflies, was it?" He relived the feel of her last kiss, the sweet warmth and innocence of it. Their relationship might have been many things, but innocent was never one of them. "Maybe it would be better off forgotten." _Maybe they could start with a fresh slate…_

Dawn was silent for a moment. "If you had the choice," she said eventually, "if you could choose to lose some memories of yours and Buffy's past, would you do it?"

"There's a hell of a lot a wish I'd done differently." Spike winced and closed his eyes.

"But given it's done," Dawn persisted, "would you?"

"No." Spike shook his head. "No, I guess not."

"She loved you, Spike, in Rome, when she had all of those memories. Why should it be any different now?"

"Yeah." He sighed and pulled her closer. "When did you get so grown up?"

"Well, you know Buffy. One of us had to." Dawn settled against him with a sigh. "It is going to be OK..." She tried her best to sound confident, as much to reassure herself as him.

"You askin' or tellin'?" He raised an eyebrow.

"Bit of both."

"It's gonna be OK." He dropped a quick kiss on the top of her head.

"Yeah. OK." She gave him a brave smile. "I'm glad you came back."

Spike stared off into the distance. It had been a strange sort of night, all in all… "Yeah, me too," he said eventually.


	23. Twenty three

"Is that it? Candles and a couple of rocks?" Buffy looked around the room nervously. "Shouldn't there be – I dunno – pentagrams or incense or strange unearthly mood music or something?"

"Would you like that?" Willow gave her a perplexed frown from her position cross-legged on the rug.

"Wouldn't it help?"

"Nope. Strictly speaking we don't need the candles. Just thought they were kind of pretty." She smiled at Buffy encouragingly. "It'll be OK," she said with rather more conviction than she felt.

"OK." Buffy took a deep breath and sat facing Willow mirroring her crossed legs. "So – you ready for this?"

"I'm ready." Willow sat up straight and put on her determined face. "You ready?"

"As I'll ever be." Buffy watched as Willow closed her eyes. "Should I close my eyes?"

"If it makes you more comfortable." Willow began to focus on the two polished stones she held in her hands, drawing on the familiar resonance of their crystal structure.

"Oh." Buffy waited. "Should I have a pebble, too?"

Willow opened one eye. "Do you want one?"

"Would it help?"

"Other than give you something to do with your hands? No."

"Oh." Buffy watched Willow, amazed at her aura of quiet calm. "Should I concentrate on something?"

"Not yet…" Willow opened her eyes and smiled, calmed as always by the familiar shape and smoothness of the crystals. "Well, I guess that's it. Ready to rock with the rocks."

"OK. Lets do it." Buffy swallowed nervously. "You will be careful? One sign of you being in any sort of danger…"

"And I'll be out of there quicker 'n fleas off a dead dog…"

"Yeww. Thank you for that." Buffy grimaced.

Willow grinned. "We've been through all this with Giles. No taking the risks. No messing around. No doing anything unless it's safe. Oh, and no peeking where I shouldn't, like you told me. And the look Spike gave me?" Willow nodded. "I get it."

"It's just…"

"I know." Willow smiled reassuringly. "I'm not risking either of us."

"Will?" Buffy watched Willow. "I'm glad it's just the two of us."

"Me too; it's neat. Although on a purely practical note, having Giles peering over my shoulder and Spike pacing the floor like some sort of caged animal…"

"Spike paced?"

"Couldn't you hear him while you were getting dressed? Up and down, up and down, until Giles threatened to chain him up in the bathtub again if he didn't stop wearing a track in his Persian rug."

"Well, then for the sake of Giles' fragile sanity and his rug, we'd best do this." Buffy smiled. "Willow?"

"Hmm?" Willow was concentrating on her final preparations.

"I… thank you. For trying this."

Willow looked over at her. "You're my friend. What else would I do?"

Buffy nodded, tears glinting in her eyes. She shook them back. "What do I do?"

"Just… let it happen…OK?" Willow's eyes locked with Buffy's, their hazel lights shifting to mirror the green of her friend's eyes. A flash of amethyst-purple sparked in their depths. "We begin," she said calmly and reached out.

_xxxxxx_

Willow had touched Buffy's mind before, so it was easier to slip back in, and Buffy's trust helped smooth the way. She soothed Buffy into a trance-like state that left her open to her soft, calming touch and gradually slipped deeper into her consciousness. Carefully, Willow approached the ward on Count Cagliastro's spell, the trigger that would alert him if anyone touched Buffy's lost memories. This time she was ready for it; and she had to admit to a small disappointment at how basic it was. No challenge to deal with at all – even given the little surprise she was leaving him. That sorted out, Willow refocused her mind and prepared to move deeper – and to face up to her fear.

And there it was. It glowed in Buffy like a hard, bright jewel, shot through with myriad shards of power, power that sent delicate tendrils of connection through time and space. Darkness swirled through its brightness, tied and moulded by the power it helped forge, quelled but not tamed, as essential as the pure white energy that caged itThe heart of the slayer – the power she had tasted when she'd held the scythe and channelled it to rouse the potentials. Despite her resolve, she couldn't resist drawing closer to it, couldn't stop herself craving the feel of the ancient strength, the engrossing complexity of it. _It was so beautiful._ The urge to touch it, to feel the resonance of that power, was overwhelming. This was what she had dreaded – the call of the magicks, the intoxication she had tasted but never truly owned, the hunger for power – and the fear she would succumb, that all the efforts of the coven, all her own efforts to deny her cravings for the taste of the forbidden, all would come to nothing. Distracted, Willow felt her consciousness drawn toward it. Just a touch… one small taste… so much beautiful power… she fought back the thought of what she could do with that power… what _good _she could do with it… how it was wasted on Buffy… _I mean,_ y_ou know, Buffy: sweet girl, not that bright_… She stopped. A gentle calm washed over her. The memories of the coven, their warm, steady support, their quiet belief in her despite their fear of her potential, filled her mind. They believed in her. And with their help, and with the love and trust of her friends, right then, she believed in her too. She didn't need this. She was so much more. Calm and refocused she turned away from the power.

And that was when she sensed it.

It was barely there; a shimmer in the threads of connection that spread from the core of the power linking Buffy with those who had gone before, and those that the scythe had enabled. When Willow tried to capture the flickering wrongness it shifted, resisted her probing. Hesitantly she drew closer to core of power, reached out to it and let it resonate in her own mind. She withdrew her touch quickly, suppressing a surge of panic. There was something very wrong. She felt an answering uneasiness in Buffy's deep consciousness and she poured calmness and reassurance into her like balm. There was no time for this now. She had a job to do, and if she didn't get it right – well, what she had felt was hardly going to matter. Resolutely she closed her mind on what she had seen and refocused.

The threads of Buffy's memories of Spike sent echoes through her consciousness; the complexity and extent of their connection staggered Willow. She took a mental breath, drew hard on the smooth, comforting weight of the amethyst and reached for a memory, the first and earliest, gently easing it back to where she sensed a loss.

She started a chain reaction. The connections began to snap back with no further help from Willow, so rapidly that she had no time to try and organise them, no chance to stop what she had started. It was as if Buffy's mind was avid for them, hungry to reclaim them, grasping at them greedily to try and repair their loss. Taken by surprise by the apparent chaos around her, Willow tried to pull out of Buffy's consciousness as a kaleidoscope of images and emotions flooded Buffy's mind and hers. But she'd lost the link. She grasped in panic for the homing connection – for the draw of the haematite she knew she clutched in her hand, but in the whirlwind of emotions and sensations that filled her she lost her tenuous hold and she felt herself swept into the maelstrom.

_xxxxxx_

For Buffy, time ceased to exist. Her memories flooded back, orderless, old on new, new on old, painfully intense as if she lived each moment again; a powerful, overwhelming mix of despair and despite, pain and passion, agony and ecstasy, hate and hope and affection and something so deep, so strong… through it all… _through it all_… the strength of his love for her held her together. And as each remembrance fitted into the pattern of their past she saw that past through new eyes, eyes opened by what she had learned, a heart set free from prejudice – _she saw_.

She wasn't sure if the wail that echoed in her head was hers or Willow's.

_xxxxxx_

Her senses alive with Buffy's emotions, body wracked with aching gasps for breath, Willow finally felt the chaos begin to subside. She frantically reached for the grounding stone, found it, focussed on its cool, stable form and pulled home.

_xxxxxx_

Buffy felt her friend break from her mind, felt the sudden loss of her presence as the last few memories snapped into place. Her eyes flew open and she found herself staring into Willow's stunned eyes. For a moment they stared at each other, each panting breathlessly.

"Wow." Willow's voice was husky with strain and emotion, "Wow, Buffy… Are-are you OK?"

"I'm…" Buffy stared at her a moment longer. "Oh, God, Will," tears started in her eyes "Oh, my God."

_xxxxxx_

They were waiting in Giles' study. As soon as Buffy and Willow walked through the door all eyes turned to them, and with their assurance that all was well, they were engulfed in Dawn's arms. Giles' resisted a moment, then finally dropped all pretence of British reserve and hugged the two women. Buffy's eyes scanned the room, looking for Spike. He was hanging back, standing uncertainly in the corner, watching. She met his eye, read the apprehension there, and looked away quickly. This wasn't going to be easy.

"So it's all back?" Dawn was talking excitedly and Buffy struggled to focus on what she was saying.

"Wha...? Oh, um… yeah… all back…" Buffy gave her a short smile.

"No wooziness?" Giles peered at her closely.

"No wooziness. Bit of a headache maybe…" She fluttered a hand in the general direction of her forehead.

"No short-term memory problems?"

"Why? What's happened?" She frowned at Giles in puzzlement.

"You… you don't remember?"

"Joke." She gave him an apologetic smile. "Very… _bad_… joke."

"Ah. And sadly your sense of humour hasn't suffered." Giles turned to Willow. "Well done, Willow. Good job."

"Hey! No big." Willow shrugged her shoulders and gave a self-deprecating smile.

"And all went smoothly? No… ah… problems?"

Willow hesitated. What she had felt – _sensed_ – in Buffy… She found it hard to put into words, wasn't sure if she could explain – _leastways_, she looked at Buffy, _not now_. She fought back her unease. "No. No problems. Like a quiet night in with a good movie." She exchanged a smile with Buffy. "A really wild movie."

Dawn was beaming widely. "Well, so much for stupid Morty and his feeble old wizard. No match for our super-cool super-witch!" She hugged Willow again and turned back to Buffy. "Oh, it's so neat! Everything back to the way it was!"

"Yeah," a fleeting frown touched Buffy's forehead, "kinda…"

"It's great. Really great! Isn't it Spike?" Spike's silence had suddenly registered with Dawn.

"Yeah." Spike was watching Buffy uneasily. "Really… great…" All eyes turned to Buffy, who flushed and looked down. Spike frowned.

Willow's eyes flicked between Buffy and Spike. "Oookayyyy…" She slipped her hand through Dawn and Giles' arms. "All that magic has made me wicked hungry. How about we go make hot chocolate? Maybe order up a pizza. Extra anchovies."

"Ah… shouldn't we…?" Giles gestured toward his desk. "You know, we should make a record… notes… that sort of… and start thinking about…"

"After pizza." Willow said firmly, leading the two of them out of the study. She glanced back and Buffy and smiled reassuring. "Plenty of time for the dusty stuff later." She closed the door firmly behind them and Spike and Buffy were alone.

There was a long moment of silence. "So – it's all back?" Spike was the first to break it.

"Yes. Sort of." Buffy's voice was nervous.

"And now you wish it wasn't."

"No. No, not that." She frowned and wrapped her arms around herself. "Spike… it's all back, but it's all…" she paused unhappily "different."

"Oh." he winced and looked away, fighting against the hard ache in his gut. _Well, what did you expect…?_

"When the memories came back – it was… _intense_," she gave a slight shake of her head, " but at the same time it was like… like I was outside of it. I was seeing it all… what we… what _I _did… really seeing it." She looked up at him, then quickly away. She hugged herself closer. "How could you…" She shook her head, lost for words.

He looked over at her, blue eyes raw with pain_. How could I what? How could I do those things to you? How could I drag you down to my level? How could I dare to love you?_

She moved closer to him, laid a tentative hand on his arm. "I'm sorry." She said hesitantly.

"S'OK." He couldn't meet her eyes, stared instead at the intricate pattern of the rug. "Fool to think it would last." He knew his voice was bitter, but it hurt too much to hide.

"Last?" Her voice was confused. "You think…? Spike… Spike look at me." She reached up to take his face in her hands. "_I'm_ sorry. For all I did, for the mess I made of… of us." The shock and surprise in his eyes pulled at her heart. "I don't know how you could… after everything I said to you… the way I treated you… kept on… why you kept on… I didn't deserve…" The intensity of her emotion made her voice raw, brought tears that drowned her words.

He stood for a moment, eyes locked with hers as she stared at him wordlessly. "I loved you," he said simply.

She looked up at him with something approaching wonder. "And I wouldn't see it, she whispered. "I'm so sorry. For both of us."

"Buffy, love… it wasn't just you… I mean, I hardly made it easy…"

"Because of me." She shook her head. "I wish I could make it different…"

"No. 'S all part of what we are love, the past. Important thing is we keep on learning; we keep on moving on. What matters is now." He brushed a tear from her cheek. "Believe me – if livin' for 100+ years teaches you anything it's that." He shrugged. "Granted it's taken me best part of that 100+ years to figure it out, but, you know – never was a quick study."

She looked up at him, smiling softly. "I told Angel you were in my heart."

"I bet that went down well."

She gave a soft laugh. "No. Not so well." She stroked a hand softly over his cheek. "Something I learned tonight. Before… when I couldn't remember… I still _knew_ you. What we had went… went beyond memory. You _are_ in my heart. You're in every part of me. You're written in my blood." The intensity of her voice caught as his heart. "It took me so long to see it. You're the one, Spike. You've always been the one."

"Well, "he smiled softly and touched her cheek, "that's OK then…"

"I never want to lose you again."

"No reason you should. I'm going nowhere." He brushed her forehead with his lips.

She sighed and closed her eyes, relishing the feel of him. "Maybe I could get Willow to do a 'no-more-spells' spell on my brain. I'm kinda getting tired of people messing with it."

Spike gave a soft chuckle. "And maybe I should stop pissin' off the powerful…"

She opened her eyes with a smile. "Yeah, like that's gonna happen…" she said, bringing her lips to his.

And then all hell broke loose in the hall.

There was the sound of raised voices, Dawn's loudest of all and the study door flew back on its hinges with a crash.

Andrew stood in the doorway, hands on hips frowning angrily. "So there you are! You go dashing off without so much as a goodbye – not even a note! Would a note have been so hard? And you told that woman to look after me, and she was unbelievably scary…" He paused and looked at Buffy. "Oh… hello, Buffy." He turned his attention back to Spike. "You know, she came marching into my bedroom without even knocking, and she kept shouting at me in Russian or something and the flight…" He stopped, suddenly noticing that Spike and Buffy were watching him with perfectly matched bemusement and standing very, _very_ close to each other indeed. The penny finally dropped. "You all did the spell! You remember!" Andrew dashed across the room and threw his arms around them both. "Oh, it's wonderful! You're back together! How… _romantic_!" He stepped back with a sigh and looked at them with a broad grin which suddenly changed to a deep pout. "You could have waited…" he sulked.

Buffy shook her head. "No. We couldn't."

"Oh, well." Andrew considered for a moment. "I guess I understand that." He smiled happily. "It really is very romantic…"

"Andrew?" Spike raised an eyebrow.

"Hmm?"

"We're kind of busy." Spike pulled Buffy closer to him, and she rested her head on his chest.

"Oh? Oh! Right! Busy… yeah…" Andrew sidled to the door. "I'll just go… unpack, then…"

"Yeah, you do that."

"OK…" Andrew paused in the doorway and looked back at Spike and Buffy. "So romantic…" he sighed, closing the door behind him. The sound of Dawn's scolding could clearly be heard, even through a closed door.

"Poor Andrew!" Buffy gave a snort of laughter. "Speaking of packing, we've got a little trip to organise ourselves. We've got unfinished business in Rome… Mmmm… Spike?" Spike's lips brushed her neck.

"You wanna do that now?" Spike's mouth moved to her ear.

"Maybe later… no rush…" Buffy sighed softly. "What is it with you and packing…?" she whispered against his lips.


	24. Twenty four

"Hi!" Buffy smiled widely as the heavy door swung open. "Francesco, isn't it? Or is it Giovanni? Lorenzo? Sorry, all you big old demons types look pretty much alike to me!" She breezed past the bemused-looking creature into The Immortal's entrance hall. "So, is the man himself home?"

"You have an appointment?" The demon guard frowned at Buffy and went to close the door. There was a squeak from Willow who was hovering on the doorstep.

"Will! Come on in!" Buffy took her friend's arm and dragged her inside, then turned back to the guard. "Now, Leonardo," Buffy laid her hand on his arm and smiled sweetly up at him, "you know little old me, don't you? Since when did I need an appointment? Besides," she stood on tiptoes to whisper in the guard's ear, "it's a surprise!"

The guard looked down at her uncertainly. Buffy smiled sweetly and squeezed his arm. He relented. "The master has a visitor, I will tell him you are here. Please to wait." He gestured to a sofa and left them.

"So far, so good," Buffy whispered to Willow. "Did you manage to… you know…?"

Willow grinned. "No problem."

A door opened and The Immortal appeared, as immaculate as ever, with the understated casual elegance that only very expensive clothes could achieve. "Buffy?" His voice was distinctly cautious.

"Morty!" Buffy rushed over to him and planted a kiss on his cheek. "How are you? I hope you don't mind us just dropping in like this, "Buffy began to steer The Immortal toward his salon, chattering happily, "I know I should have called you first, what with you being so busy and all, and I'm sorry, but we were just back in Rome, doing a little shopping – you know how it is – and I thought, hey, let's go and call on Morty! Because you know, you never did meet Willow, did you? And I told you so much about her!" Buffy sat down on a sofa, pulling a somewhat bemused Immortal with her, and hooked her arm through his. "And of course, she's heard so much about you, too, so I'm thinking, let's just call in and say hello!" Buffy's best 100-kilowatt smile was firmly in place.

The Immortal looked over at Willow. "Umm… hello!" She smiled awkwardly and waggled her fingers.

"And look! We're extra lucky because Count Cagliastro is here too!" Buffy smiled winningly at the suave wizard poised elegantly on a high backed chair. He inclined his head to her gracefully. "Isn't this nice!" Buffy settled back on the sofa. "I'm so glad there are no hard feelings, you know, about me dumping you like that." A frown touched The Immortal's perfect forehead and Buffy smiled blandly. "Hey! We can still be friends, right?"

"Naturally." The Immortal gave her a courteous smile.

"There you go!" Buffy nudged him in the ribs as the guard appeared with a tray of cups. "Now, pass the coffee and let me tell you all about London."

_xxxxxx_

The locks of the heavy oak doors were surprisingly feeble for such a security-conscious house, and Spike had no problem picking them. He pushed the door open warily and took a cautious step over the threshold. He was in; the barring spell was broken. He grinned. Go, Red! He made his way silently along the marble-floored corridor to the guard's room, easily identified by the sound of harsh laughter and canned music filtering out through the partly open door, and the stale smell of cigarettes and testosterone. Spike peered inside cautiously and smiled grimly. Still with the penchant for Internet porn, then. The two big demons sat sprawled in their chairs, jackets off, deeply engrossed in what a group of over-endowed and under-dressed women were doing with a cucumber and a bottle of baby oil. Behind them, banks of monitors displayed the various rooms of The Immortal's home. A quick glance showed him Buffy and Willow apparently chatting happily to The Immortal and Count Cagliastro. He smirked – really wouldn't want to be in either of those men's shoes tonight. He looked back at the demons. Or, come to that…

Spike stepped into the room, grinning savagely. "Remember me?" he growled.

The demons spun around in confusion, sending coffee cups, cigarette butts and magazines flying, and stared at him in shock.

"I'll take that as a yes." With a snarl, Spike slipped into game face and indulged in a little bit of gleeful mayhem.

"What was that?" The Immortal looked toward the door with a frown.

"What was what? Didn't hear a thing." Buffy smiled up at him innocently. "So, watcha both been up to lately? Have you learned any new magic tricks, Count, because, you know, Willow's a bit of a one for the magic."

"You're a witch?" Count Cagliastro looked at Willow searchingly.

"Aww, I dabble." Willow gave him an innocent smile and resolutely blocked the tentative mental feeler he sent her way. "You know – little bit of Wicca... usual girl stuff; love spells, bit of basic foretelling, occasional memory spell..."

The Count began to look slightly less relaxed. "Memory spell?"

"Oh, nothing big... just making sure the boys don't forget their girl's birthdays, that sort of thing. I _so_ couldn't do much more," she turned on the full innocent look. "I mean, messing with people's memories is just _so_ dangerous!"

Cagliastro watched her through narrowed eyes. Despite the show of naivety, this one was radiating something that felt suspiciously like suppressed power. He looked over at The Immortal, tried to catch his eye in warning. At that moment the door swung open and a familiar black-leather-clad figure swaggered into the room, looking relaxed and comfortable despite a burgeoning black eye.

"Oh, look! It's Spike." Buffy leapt to her feet, dashed over and hooked her arm through Spike's, giving him a noisy kiss on the cheek. "Oh!" She smiled brightly. "And he has sexy wounds." She paused. "Ah... is that an iron bar in your pocket, or…?"

"Actually… it's an iron bar." He slipped the lump of metal out of his duster pocket and hefted it, grinning savagely. "Been payin' a couple of old acquaintances a visit."

"Ah-ha. And that stuff on it that looks like blood and brains is…?" Buffy cocked an eyebrow at him.

"Is blood and brains, yeah."

"Ewww." She turned back to The Immortal smiling indulgently. "Vampires, huh?" She raised a hand to her mouth. "Oh, I'm sorry! How rude! You know Spike, honey, don't you? I'm sure you must have met. After all, you know _everybody…_"

The Immortal and Count Cagliastro were looking at Spike with expressions of mixed horror and disbelief. "You... how did you get in?" The Immortal spluttered.

Spike nodded over at Willow. "Red there did a little unblockin' for me." He smiled down at Buffy affectionately. "My girl here thought it was impolite not to call and say hello, given the circumstances." Spike looked back at the two men and gave a savage grin. "You know, pet – I do believe they've forgotten me."

"Forgotten _you_, sweetie? How could anyone do that?" Buffy turned to The Immortal. "Unless of course some evil, low-life, scumbag coward decided to play God with their memories..." Her smile was pure venom. "And who'd be such an unspeakable bastard to do something like that?"

"You..." The Immortal turned to Cagliastro with a furious frown. "You told me the spell was still in place!"

Cagliastro looked at Buffy in bewilderment. "The Ward... it _is_ still in place..."

"Oops!" Willow raised her hand. "That'd be me again! I sort of tickled it a bit; just to get you two worried enough to stay together. Then I kind of blocked it." She gave a mock-apologetic smile. "Sorry!"

Cagliastro's sense of unease was deepening rapidly. The warding had hardly been an elegant device, but it would be more than sufficient to defeat any average witch or wizard. He focused more intently on Willow, trying to see beyond the veil she'd set around herself. Willow decided she wouldn't let him; she gave him a saccharine sweet smile instead.

Unaware of the mental skirmish taking place between his magus and the witch, The Immortal had regained a little of his composure. He sat back in his seat with studied insouciance and looked over at Spike and Buffy. "So. You have discovered my little game." He steepled his fingers and raised an eyebrow. "And now? I mean, clearly there was no harm done, after all. Surely you are not here seeking revenge?"

"Well, let me see." Buffy pondered. "We were thinking, that... on the whole... all things considered and all… probably... yes." She grinned. "Revenge sounds cool. Something that will hit you where it really hurts."

The Immortal looked at Spike nervously. Spike grinned. "That was my idea, too. But much as it would give me great pleasure to beat seven shades of shit out of you, pal, the girls have other ideas."

The Immortal turned his gaze back to Buffy.

"Well, we thought about some sort of financial settlement, but – hey, it's only money, and you have so much of that. Or maybe a plague of boils or something, but that's a bit biblical for the modern day revenger. So we thought..." she smiled sweetly "how about a nice little _permanent_ impotence spell?"

Spike winced. "You know what they say about the female of the species, mate. _Way_ deadlier than the male."

Willow cocked her head at The Immortal thoughtfully. "Shouldn't be too difficult..." she mused, eyeing his crotch.

The Immortal blanched. "Do something!" he shouted to Cagliastro.

Cagliastro moved to stand between The Immortal and the others. "This has gone on long enough." His voice was deep and authoritative. "Stand down." He glared at Willow and an aura of black power crackled around him.

Willow stood up calmly. "You know, I don't think I will."

Cagliastro laughed. "Then I will just have to destroy you."

Willow smiled and shrugged. "Go for it." She held up a hand. In her palm a soft, white light began to form, spinning slowly and silently into a sphere.

The darkness surrounding Cagliastro hissed. "So – you seek to match your puny strength to the power the ancient Gods?" Cagliastro sneered at Willow. "You think you can fight the dark magicks with _that_?"

"This here pretty little thing?" Willow cocked her head and smiled. She held the small ball of light up in front of her, admiring the swirling hints of colours in its depths. "Nope. Just a connection." She closed her hands over the light. "I got friends in high places. Way beyond dark and light magic; you know, before the division. Before the patriarchs screwed with the old ways, the true beliefs." She shrugged. "Before... well, _everything_ as it happens..."

"You dare to summon Gaia?" Cagliastro looked on in horror as the light streamed from between Willow's fingers, sending tendrils of power downwards into the earth.

Willow shrugged. "Gaia, Eurynome, Coatlicue, Dziva,Nana Buruku, Kótyangwúti... take your pick. She has lots of names. And you don't want to summon. Oh, no. She doesn't much like that. Nope – a little request, and we'll see what she has to say. But one thing's for sure. Being a woman has certain advantages." Willow looked over at Cagliastro, eyes flashing with a myriad lights, white power flowing up from beneath her feet and fizzing around her, shot with rainbow shards where it met the air… "She really, really doesn't like being pissed off by a puny…" Willow closed her eyes, drew the power closer to her, luxuriating in the feel of it, "...jumped-up..." the power focussed down, filling the witch's small frame with brightness and suddenly she seemed to fill the room, growing beyond herself, magnified by magic, "...little..." she opened star-bright eyes and sneered down at the cowering wizard, "..._man_…" she said contemptuously, her words rich with the resonance of the Goddess. Her voice dropped to a more Willow-like tone. "Well, not that you are a man, technically speaking. You're a demon, aren't you? But - close enough." Cagliastro looked on in horror as Willow extended her hand toward him. "OK," she grinned, "give it your best shot."

In a flurry of panic and hissing blackness, Cagliastro hurled a jolt of darkness at Willow. It disappeared into her white cloak with a squeak. "Hah!" Willow tilted her head. "Oh, come on! You can do better than that!" A tendril of white shot across the room, grasped the dark shield of his power and stripped it away, snuffing out the inky blackness as if it were nothing. There was a blinding flash, lightening-bright in the confines of the room, and then silence.

"Oops." The pure, clean whiteness faded, leaving Willow, small, slim and red-headed, standing staring disappointedly at a pile of dark powder on the floor where Cagliastro had stood. "Is that it?" She turned to where Spike and Buffy were standing watching her open-mouthed. "How disappointing. They really don't make wizards like they used to. Not even demonic ones."

"W... whoa!" Buffy was the first to speak, blinking magic-dazzled eyes at her friend. "Will! That was..." she shook her head.

"Kinda neat, huh?" Willow grinned hugely. The last flashes of magic drained away. "You have no idea how hard you have to work to get to that level!"

Spike gave an admiring whistle. "Remind me never to piss you off."

"You... I mean... _Gaia_?" Buffy was still pretty much at a loss for words. "Even I know that's like... major mojo!"

"Not so much." Willow smiled modestly. "Thing to remember is no-one can own that sort of power. You try and own it, it leads to badness. The Goddess is in everything – everything's connected. The coven showed me how we can share our power, and how to draw on the sharing. And with a bit of practice... well, OK, a lot of practice... you can sort of borrow some of her."

"That was a bit more than some!" Buffy shook her head in admiration.

"Yeah, well..." Willow grinned. "What can I say? I'm good!"

"Erm... Buffy? Hate to interrupt this whole sisterhood and girlpower thing, but..." Spike gestured across the room. "I think we've lost someone."

The sofa was empty. The Immortal had disappeared.

Buffy gave a groan of despair. "Oh, no! He gets out there, with his contacts? He'll disappear! We'll never find him!"

Spike frowned. "I dunno. I bet I know someone who could find him," he said thoughtfully.

_xxxxxx_

On the whole, Buffy thought, she preferred the over-the-top, big-with-the-kissy-kissy greeting to the gentle touch on the cheek and the shared soft smile that seemed to be happening right now. She stood in the lobby of Wolfram and Hart and watched as Ilona greeted Spike in a way that was really, _really_ too familiar for someone who was an ex-boss, fighting down the urge to yell "Hey! Hands off my boyfriend!" Really, if it wasn't for the fact they needed her help, she'd… she'd… do… _something_. Buffy frowned. Where Spike was concerned, turned out she really wasn't equipped to cope with the whole jealousy thing.

"So." Ilona finally dragged her eyes away from Spike and turned to Buffy with a wide smile. "Boofy! 'Ow are you?" She took hold of Buffy's shoulders and looked at her with her head tilted, a concerned frown creasing her forehead. "You are looking a leetle pale, I think, a leetle tired, no?"

"No. I'm fine." Buffy tried not to grit her teeth.

"Si?" Ilona gave her a disbelieving smile. "Ah, then that is good. So maybe it is just that your skin care regimen is in need of an updating, no?" She kissed the air noisily near Buffy's cheek and turned away dismissively. "And this… this must be Willow." She chuckled at Willow's look of surprise. "Ah, even if Spike had not told me of you, I would know. You are a very powerful woman. Wolfram and 'art keep the very close eye on such power."

Willow wasn't sure whether to be pleased or worried. "Oh," she managed.

"Powerful and very beautiful, no?" Ilona took Willow's face in her hands. Willow smiled nervously and kept her eyes resolutely away from Ilona's remarkable cleavage, not altogether sure why it was making her feel quite so apprehensive. "It is very good to meet you at last." Ilona kissed her on each cheek and stepped back with a smile. "So, what can I do for you? You 'ave a problem, of that I 'ave no doubt! It is true, I think, that the great slayer, she only come to see Ilona when she 'as the problem! Last time you lose Spike. So careless to lose so _precious _a thing, huh?" she purred up at him. Buffy glared at her and Ilona suppressed a smile. "So – tell Ilona your problem and then you will 'ave no more problem! We will solve it for – in fact, we will solve many problems for you because that is our way!"

"The Immortal," Buffy said bluntly, "we lost him."

"Ah, _si_?" Ilona looked up at Spike. "So, to have lost him, you must first have found him."

"Yeah, we had a bit of a run in." Spike shrugged. "With him and his magical mate."

"Cagliastro? And?" Ilona prompted

"He kind of went… 'Pouf';" Buffy put in, "carbonised Count."

Ilona looked over at Willow thoughtfully. "Did he indeed?" she murmured as Willow blushed uncomfortably. "So, The Immortal no longer 'as his accomplice." She stood quietly for a moment, deep in thought, then shrugged. "And now you want to find 'im. You want for me to betray one of my most important clients?" Ilona raised an eyebrow at Buffy.

"Well, if you put it like that – yes." Buffy shrugged.

Ilona shook her head. "I am afraid I cannot 'elp you this time. It breaks my 'art, naturally, because, you know, I am Italian, I understand the need for revenge, no? And it pains us not to be able to 'elp our friends, but this time…" she shrugged "it is simply impossible. Wolfram and 'art must protect their client's interests, you know. Speaking of which…" Ilona turned to Spike. "We must talk. The Senior Partners…" she shrugged and let the sentence hang.

"Oh, right." Spike frowned. He guessed his sudden disappearance from his last job was hardly likely to have gone unnoticed.

"Now?" Buffy frowned.

Ilona smiled at Buffy. "Ah, you know, the business she makes slaves of us all. You need 'ave no fear! I do not eat 'im! You shall 'ave 'im back very quickly! You sit…sit!" She steered the two women to the seats by the large reception desk. "Pietro will bring you…"

"Yeah, I know, coffee fit for the angels." Buffy growled, sitting down and folding her arms.

"See? You remember 'ow good it is!" Ilona beamed. "I promise not to keep 'im from you for more than a moment. No sooner will he be gone, than he will be back again." Ilona smiled indulgently. "So sweet!" She turned away and, taking Spike's arm, led him away toward her office.

Spike looked back at Buffy and winced. If looks could kill, Ilona would be six feet under by now. He turned away, suppressing a smirk. If he was completely honest with himself, the jealousy _really_ felt good.

_xxxxxx_

In her office, Ilona sat at her desk with a sigh. "So, all is well with your Boofy? She 'as back her memories and now you are like the two love birds again." She shrugged. "Then you 'ave all you desire."

"Seems like." Spike helped himself to his customary bottle of beer and sat opposite her, sprawled in a deep leather armchair.

"And you 'ave destroyed Count Cagliastro." Ilona frowned in thought.

"Did you know he was a bloody demon?" Spike gave a disgusted snort. "His sort gives demonkind a bad name." Ilona raised an eyebrow. "Right," Spike went on, "From what Red tells me, it was down to him. Turns out he was fighting well above his weight when it came to it, tried to handle too much power and microwaved himself." He sucked his teeth. "Not pretty. Deeply satisfying, naturally – but not pretty."

"And still you seek revenge?"

"Yeah, well, Morty's still out there somewhere. His mate might have got fried, but don't see why he should get away with it scot free." Spike frowned and took a pull from his bottle.

"'ardly that. Without Cagliastro to maintain the spell 'then the immortality is… 'ow did your Boofy put it so _eloquently_? Ah, yes…'Pouf'."

"So how come he didn't dust, then? Hardly seems fair," Spike muttered.

Ilona shrugged. "The spell was merely a stasis. From now on he will simply age as a normal man."

"Doesn't seem much of a trial. I like the girl's idea better."

"For one who has known immortality and permanent youth? You think to age would not be painful for him?" Ilona raised an eyebrow.

Spike stared moodily at the bottle in his hand. "Some might think it would be a relief."

"Ah, but then, we are not all like him. You are forgetting that this is what he chose." She looked at Spike's bowed head a moment longer. "Revenge is a hard mistress, is she not?" He looked up at her sharply as she began to scribble something quickly on a sheet of notepaper. "We must talk, "she said quietly, folding the paper and handing it to him, "alone".

_xxxxxx_

Some hours later, Ilona opened her apartment door to his knock. He stood on the doorstep, dishevelled by his dash across the city in response to her call, frowning blackly. "The witch..."

"I know." She smiled slowly and reached up to cup his face in her hands. "I know." And she pulled The Immortal's mouth down to hers in a deep, passionate kiss.


	25. Twenty five

Well – here it is, the final chapter of Keep On Moving. It's been a long old ride and if you've stuck it this long you deserve a medal!

Thank you all for reading and especially for commenting. It really means a lot.

Oh, dear. I'm missing it already.

Cass

* * *

The Immortal lay on Ilona's bed in a tangle of sheets and smiled contentedly, basking in the afterglow of what, even in his enormous and varied experience, had been a particularly satisfying exercise. He gave a deep chuckle. "You are a remarkable woman."

Ilona sat next to him, her long black hair loose around her shoulders and falling softly over the swell of her breasts, and lit a cigarette.

"You should not, you know." The Immortal gave a moue of distaste.

Ilona raised an eyebrow at him. "Ah no? So suddenly you must be concerned for your health." She stubbed the cigarette out with a shake of her head. "I am sorry."

The afterglow faded suddenly and a deep frown settled on his perfect features. "Thanks to the vampire and his whores, I have to be concerned for so much."

"Oh, my darling!" Ilona shook her head sympathetically. "What will you do?"

"I will have my revenge," he said grimly. "Somehow," he added with a pout.

"Ah, but you will have to be most careful. The witch…" Ilona let her words hang.

"She crushed Cagliastro as if he were nothing. Less than nothing!" The Immortal growled. "As long as he has the witch, I cannot hope to exact payment from him."

"Well, you may get your revenge." Ilona smiled slowly. "He will be here in a little while. All alone."

The Immortal looked at her in surprise. "Here? Why would he come here?"

"I have been… cultivating an acquaintance with him. Really, he is quite pathetically desperate for friendship, it was not so difficult. The slayer, I think, has much to answer for." She shrugged. "He trusts me. He thinks I am on his side. He comes so that I can tell him where to find you." A smile twitched the corner of her mouth. "We will have to make sure you are ready for him, no?"

The Immortal laughed delightedly. "You really _are_ a most remarkable woman." He kissed her naked shoulder. "In so many ways." He paused. "Ilona, it's not that I am complaining, and after all, I'm sure you are very well aware that I have desired you for a very, very long time, but," The Immortal twined a lock of her hair around his finger, "why now? You have resisted so long…"

Ilona smiled at him archly. "It is a woman's prerogative, is it not? Besides, you were always linked so closely with your mage. It would have felt as if I had two men in my bed, and although I do find that thought necessarily unpleasant, with you," she rubbed her face against her hand, "I wanted for it just to be the two of us."

"Ah, yes," The Immortal sat up in the bed, a frown creasing his forehead. "No more Cagliastro." He swung out of bed and stalked moodily across the room to where a bottle of wine sat waiting on a table. "And no more immortality."

She watched him pour the wine, his face fixed in a deep scowl. "I could help you with that," she said calmly.

He paused and turned toward her with a puzzled frown. "Help me?"

"Yes," she stretched luxuriously, unashamedly naked in the candle-light. "I could give you back your immortality."

A gleam of excitement flashed in his eyes. "You could?"

She gave a purring chuckle. "We have known each other for many years, have we not? Many years - since I first came to Wolfram and Hart. You know what I am. You know of my powers." She shrugged. "I may not be as strong as Cagliastro – the immortality I can give you will not be… _exactly_ the same… but you will be immortal again."

"And Wolfram and Hart would agree to this?"

Ilona shrugged. "You are one of our most valued clients."

He smiled with malicious glee. "Oh, that would be priceless! They think they have destroyed me, the witch and the slayer. Think they have avenged their feeble vampire! It would give me great satisfaction to prove them wrong." He threw back his head and laughed. "To be immortal again!"

Ilona watched him, a quiet smile curving her lips. "Then you wish to do this?"

He hesitated briefly. "Is it safe?"

"I have handled your affairs for many years. You know me. And then, after tonight…" she raised an eyebrow "you ask me that?"

He came over to her and took her hand eagerly. "When can we do it?"

"Well, why not…" she tilted her head at him, "now? I have all I need and there is no time like the present, no?"

"Ah, Ilona, my gratitude knows no bounds! After this, we will be together, no?" he bent over her, nuzzling her neck, one hand moving to caress her. "Immortal together." His hand stroked her breast as he kissed her throat.

She chuckled and gently detached herself from his embrace. "Do not waste your strength! You will have all the time in the world later. Now, we do this. You stand, there… by the fireplace." The Immortal followed her instructions as she rummaged in a drawer. She brought out a smooth, polished stone, about the size of her fist and pure white, which seemed to pulse and glow as her hand closed around it. She held it reverently, stroking it gently and a soft hum began to emanate from it.

The Immortal eyed her warily. "Will it hurt?"

"You won't feel a thing. Trust me." She looked up from her rapt scrutiny of the stone and smiled. "Now – I focus the power. You will feel… a certain stiffness of the muscles as the spell takes effect. This is normal; there is no need for concern. Very soon you will feel nothing."

"Very well. What shall I do?"

"You just stand there and look handsome," she said with a smile. The Immortal struck a heroic pose and Ilona laughed. "Perfect! Now – we start." She concentrated on the stone, eyes closed. The hum intensified. The sheen of perspiration on her forehead bore witness to the stress of the spell.

"I feel it!" he said excitedly. "It starts at my feet, no? And now it moves… it…" He frowned. "Ilona… I cannot move my legs…"

"Hush!" She kept her eyes closed, still focussed on the pulsing white stone. "It will pass."

The Immortal kept an uncomfortable silence as the heavy numbness spread ever upward. He looked down. The skin of his legs and abdomen had paled, and as he watched it took on a smooth white lustre. "Ilona!" There was panic in his voice now as a cold, hard vice tightened around his chest.

Ilona sighed and opened her eyes – no longer a soft, rich brown, but hard, feral amber. She blinked and the demon receded. "It is done."

"Immortality!" he croaked as the skin of his chest hardened and whitened.

She stood up and walked over to him. "Oh, you will have your _immortality_. Marble, I believe, lasts for many, many years."

The line of whiteness had reached his throat. He turned horrified eyes towards her. "Why?" he asked.

"For Guglielmo." Her eyes hardened. "The name means nothing to you? No, of course it would not. You have always bent yourself to the pursuit of money and power, no? You have sold your allegiance to whoever could bring you your desire. Never a patriot. You despised them, those who put their country before their wealth. So, to have them killed like animals at the request of your French master, it meant nothing to you." She leaned closer to stare into eyes across which white crystalline tendrils were beginning to form. "But it meant something to me." Her voice was low with anger. "I have waited many years for this, while you hid behind the protection of your magus. But now…" She stepped back and examined the almost pure white form critically. "You make a very beautiful statue! Worthy of Bellini! But then – he has sculpted you before, no? Of course, there will be a slight difference between you and the other works of art in our beautiful city." She rapped her knuckles on the cooling, hardened surface of his chest. "You can still feel inside your shell, can't you? Oh, it will thicken slowly as time goes on, but so slowly! And how that must give pain! And you can still think, still understand. The spell will maintain you." She stretched up to put her lips close to an alabaster-white ear. "For eternity," she whispered, "just as I live with my pain." She watched impassively as the final crystallisation turned his luxurious black hair to hard, immobile white.

She opened the door to him dressed in a silk robe, vigorously towelling her shower-damp hair, her skin still pink from the heat of the water and the harsh scrubbing it had been subjected to. She smelled of expensive shampoo and soap and the strong, minty tang of toothpaste. She gave him a tight smile and stood aside to let him enter.

Spike looked around the room and frowned. "He didn't turn up?"

Ilona nodded wordlessly and led Spike through to her bedroom. Spike's eyes took in the discarded clothes on the floor, travelled over the dishevelled bed, and then… stopped. For a fleeting moment, he almost felt sorry for the old git. Almost.

He gave a low whistle and walked closer. "So, it worked, then?"

Ilona came to stand next to him. "It worked," she said flatly.

Spike stepped a little closer to the pure white form. "And he's naked because…?"

"Because he had to trust me." She turned away and began to brush out her hair. "He had to be completely open to me. I had to know him."

"Well, that's one way…" Spike snorted.

She turned to face him and her eyes darkened. "I did what I had to. Do not judge me."

"No." He nodded. "I'm not judging you." He walked over to her and took her face in his hands. "You OK?"

For a moment her face softened and she swayed toward him. There was vulnerability and openness in her eyes that brought a concerned frown to his face. She shrugged it down quickly and the old Ilona was back. "_Si_, of course. Now I, too, 'ave all I wanted, huh?" She held his eyes a moment longer then looked away. "And I 'ave a most beautiful piece of art, do you not agree?" She crossed the room and smiled widely at The Immortal, tapping his cheeks lightly. "So 'andsome! It will lift my spirits to know that one such as he will live forever in marble. A much deserved tribute, no?"

Spike tilted his head and examined the statue with a frown. "You know," he said eventually. "Just about every statue of a naked bloke I've ever seen has got a particular part of its anatomy missing." He looked at the relevant area. "Don't suppose you've got a club hammer handy?" he mused.

Ilona chuckled. "Ah, now that would be too cruel! After all, it was his most favourite piece of his body, I think."

"Doesn't look much to write home about," Spike snorted disdainfully.

"It wasn't." Ilona walked over to the table and poured two glasses of wine. She handed one to Spike. "So – a toast. To we who now have all our hearts' desires, no?"

Spike took a drink of the soft red wine, watching her carefully. "And it feels good, having all you desired?" He gestured with his glass.

"It feels…" she gazed at The Immortal pensively, "I do not know. It is often the way, I think, that when you have what you have wanted for so long, that there is a certain…" She shook her head turned to Spike with a wide smile. "Revenge is sweet, is that not what they tell us?"

"They tell us a lot of things, a lot of it complete bollocks." Spike frowned. "Now what? Don't suppose Wolfram and Hart are going to be especially happy that you've done away with one of their most important clients."

"'Ow are they to know? I 'ave worked for them for many years – I know well enough 'ow they work, and where they have the blind spots." Ilona sipped her wine calmly.

"Yeah, but he just disappears? Someone has to care - although I can't imagine why."

Ilona shrugged "I 'andled all of The Immortal's affairs. 'E 'as no heirs, and friends… well, you know, not so much friends as enemies. 'E was becoming too sure of himself; 'e was beginning to interfere in Wolfram and Hart's interests. This was well known – it will do the Senior Partners no 'arm if others who seek to challenge their authority suspect they 'ad anything to do with 'is… disappearance. Besides, Wolfram and Hart are beneficiaries if ever anything should 'appen to him." She gave a small smile. "Really, 'e never was good at reading the small print. Wolfram and Hart will come out of this very well indeed"

"You've really thought this through," Spike said admiringly.

"I 'ave 'ad much time."

"And you? What now?"

"Ah, now – that remains to be seen. The Senior Partners will no doubt appoint themselves judge and jury."

"That doesn't sound like it'll be to the good." Spike frowned.

"Maybe." Ilona shrugged. "But – I do not underestimate my usefulness to them. And, if all else fails, I 'ave…" she hesitated "certain information. As you know," she smiled, "I 'ave no aversion to blackmail. It is a great and honourable tradition, and just because Wolfram and Hart are who they are, it does not mean they do not understand honour."

"Honour among thieves?" Spike snorted.

"Ah, _si_! Each has their own form of honour. Except for gypsies, naturally. But… now it is done, I am not so sure where my way lies. I think I 'ave been much blinded by this _vendetta_." She looked over at The Immortal thoughtfully, "I need to give my 'art some time to tell me what it is she really wants. This is difficult, I think, finding your true 'art's desire. When you think you 'ave it, you find that maybe what you 'ave craved is not enough…" She looked up at Spike sharply. "And you? You 'ave your 'art's desire – you 'ave the love of your Boofy. This is enough for you?"

"I…" he paused. "It's enough," he said firmly.

She raised an eyebrow. "Yet you hesitate."

"Yeah, well, it's complicated, isn't it?" He ran his hand over his hair with a sigh. "I mean, vampire here. I may not be the brightest bulb on the tree, but I'm not that stupid. I know it's not gonna be easy. But…" he shrugged.

"But you love her." Ilona looked at him intently for a moment and he looked away. "_L'amore_, huh?" she smiled. "She conquers all." He didn't see the fleeting sadness that touched her eyes. "I hope you find it is enough," she said softly. She shook her head. "But there is something you must also consider. It is not only I who should be concerned about the Senior Partners."

"I'm giving notice." Spike shrugged dismissively. "Not playin' for the bad guys anymore."

Ilona gave a wry laugh. "You do not just walk away from Wolfram and Hart!"

"No?" Spike's jaw was set defiantly. "Just watch me."

Ilona sighed and cupped his cheek in her hand. "I will watch you. And I will watch _out_ for you as long as I am able, but…" she shrugged. "This must one day be faced. Once again you make powerful and dangerous enemies, no?" She dropped her hand. "But now, you must go to your Boofy. I 'ave much to arrange, you know." She crossed the room to The Immortal and walked around his white form examining it critically. "You know, I think maybe this is too large for my room. And it does not fit with the décor. I think, maybe I should donate such a fine statue to a worthy cause, no? We cannot be greedy with such beauty! Somewhere it can be admired by the public perhaps." She smiled and raised an eyebrow at Spike. "What you think?"

"Not a bad idea. But you know, public statues – tend to get vandalised. And then there's the pigeons…" Spike grinned.

"Ah, yes, the pigeons." Ilona chuckled. "How delightful…"

_xxxxxx_

He let himself out of the building, closed the door softly behind him and sighed. He looked up at the lighted window in Ilona's apartment and shook his head. She really was something. He turned away, then stopped with a frown, senses tingling. He wasn't alone in the piazza. A smile curved the corner of his mouth.

"Are you going to lurk there all night, or are you comin' out?" he said softly.

Buffy stepped out of the shadows of a doorway. "I'm not lurking. Just standing around. It's a whole different vibe."

Spike grinned. "Are you stalking me, slayer?"

"In your dreams!" Buffy sidled up to him, smiling seductively, and rested her hands on his chest. "Just happened to be passing."

"Is that right?" Spike wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her closer. "What's up? Don't you trust me?" He gave her a lopsided smirk, tongue against his teeth.

"Trust _you_… yes. Trust her…" Buffy frowned up at Ilona's apartment, "no."

"You don't know her, love." Spike followed her gaze up to the window. "She's quite something."

Buffy wasn't sure she liked the affection in his voice. "Something. Yeah, just not quite sure what." She pouted. "So did Signora Something have anything to say about Morty?"

"Dealt with." Spike shrugged.

"What dealt with? Hey! Any dealing with to be done around here, I wanna be the one to do it!" Buffy frowned.

"It's dealt with." Spike's voice was determinedly reasonable. "Believe me, he got what he deserved. He won't be screwing with anyone's life ever again."

"But…I…"

Spike took her face in his hands and looked into her eyes. "Trust me on this. It's over." She gazed at him steadily, searching the depths of his eyes, then nodded. He leaned forward and kissed her gently. "Time to put it behind us."

"Mmmm… just don't ask me to forget it…" she murmured against his mouth. "From now on I forget nothing."

She wondered, as his lips brushed hers, if this would ever change – this sudden breathlessness, the surge of desire that turned her insides molten and sent fire coursing through her veins, set her whole body alive to him. On the whole, she kind of hoped not.

She pulled back and looked up at him. "You know what I love about you?" she asked gently.

_Love_. The word resonated through him, set his heart soaring. He didn't think he'd ever get used to it. "My tight and athletic body?" He raised an eyebrow.

"No… well, yes…" She snuggled closer "that too…" She writhed as his hands moved down to cup her buttocks, pulling her tighter to him. "Stop trying to distract me! Listen!" He pulled back a little, put on his best attentive face, made her smile.

"You know me so well, better than I know myself sometimes, but you – you never cease to surprise me. Maybe I've seen the best and the worst of you, too – but I still don't think I've seen it all." She rested her hand against his cheek, smiling softly. "You're one hell of a man."

He swallowed against the sudden lump in his throat, the surge of emotion that threatened to overwhelm him at her words. "Yeah, well," he gave her a lopsided smile, "been tryin' to tell you that for years. Knew you'd fall for the good looks and killer charm sooner or later."

"And arrogant," Buffy chuckled softly, "Did I mention arrogant?"

"Must have done. More than once, I'd wager, probably along with the pig-headed and annoying."

"Mmm… always was a good judge of character." She smiled and reached up to kiss him. "Mmm… Spike?"

"Yeah?"

"I think we should go back to the hotel now."

"Yeah? OK, but it's not that late…"

"No." She pressed herself closer to him, nibbled gently at his neck, felt a surge of heat almost painful in its intensity as he gave a groan and rolled back his head. She kissed the curve of his throat. "You don't understand. I _need_ to go back to the hotel." She drew back and looked up at him under lowered lashes. "Now."

"Now?" He cocked an eyebrow, gave her that smile – the one that suddenly seemed to make rational thought impossible.

Under the cover of his duster, she slid a hand down to the button of his jeans. "Unless you'd rather wait?" Her hand moved lower.

He gasped. "Now would be good." His arm around her shoulder, he began to steer her hurriedly across the piazza.

A few yards further on Spike stopped abruptly.

"What?" Buffy was in no mood to wait.

"Do you ever get the feeling you're being followed?" Spike turned around and scanned the street behind them. A smile twitched the corner of his mouth. "OK, c'mon out." There was a long silence. "I know you're there." Spike went on. "Don't make me come get you."

There was the sound of giggling and Willow stepped out of a shadowed doorway, smiling nervously. "Hi!" She wiggled her fingers at Spike

"And?" Spike frowned at the doorway.

Dawn was next to appear, grinning hugely and dragging Andrew by his arm.

"Bloody hell, what is this? Annual outing of Scoobies United?" Spike frowned at them. "And when the hell did you two get to Rome?"

"Oh, not long ago." Dawn grinned. "You two look cosy."

"How long have you been following us?" Buffy shook her head in disbelief.

"Since you left the hotel. You were so intent on checking up on Spike you didn't even spot us!" Dawn said triumphantly. "We wanted to surprise you!"

"Well, it worked." Spike scanned the street behind them. "You're it, right? Old Rupe isn't lurking in the shadows as well?"

"Giles? No…" Dawn grinned at Spike's expression of relief, "he's waiting back at the hotel," she said gleefully.

"Fuck!" Spike looked down at Buffy. "Do you think we could find another hotel?"

Buffy rolled her eyes. "C'mon, let's go face the music."

They set off again, Spike and Buffy trailed by their small band of followers.

"This is cool!" Dawn was positively bouncing with excitement. "We're all together again! Like a …a gang! We could all work together!"

"Oh, bloody hell…" Spike groaned quietly.

"We should have a name. A new one." Andrew had clearly taken to the idea.

"Well, I never much liked the old one." Dawn snorted. "I mean – Scoobies? Who's idea was that?"

"Yeah, I always wondered about that." Spike looked down at Buffy. "So, what – you'd be Daphne, right?"

"I am so not Daphne! Daphne is just lame!" Buffy sneered. "Always with the needing to be rescued! I could _never _be Daphne."

"Well, Spike could be Fred." Andrew put in. "You know – all brave and blond and strong…"

"Which leaves Willow as Thelma, you as Shaggy, and – what? I get to be Scooby Doo? Gee thanks," Dawn said sarcastically. "How about Vampdusters?" Dawn began to sing, "If there's something weird in your neighbourhood, who you gonna call – Vampdusters!"

"You wanna just think about that one?" Spike looked back at her and raised an eyebrow. "Given current company." He caught Willow's eye and gave her a long-suffering grin.

Willow felt herself flush and looked away quickly. The sharing of Buffy's memories and emotions had left a legacy that she was finding a bit hard to deal with. After all, hardly appropriate to be having feelings like that about your best friend's guy. Not that they were her feelings, naturally – they were just echoes of Buffy's and they'd fade eventually. Hopefully. And besides – Spike wasn't her type, because after all, as Anya had once so eloquently put it, he has a penis. Willow's blush deepened. Buffy's memories of that particular part of… _No! No going there!_ She resolutely put the thoughts aside. _Bad thoughts!_ Besides, she had more important things to worry about.

She watched the two of them, Spike with his arm around Buffy's shoulders, Buffy with her arm around his waist as naturally as if they had been made to fit. She watched him smile down at her, at the look she gave him, listened to the light-hearted banter between them as they walked together, perfectly at one, so _happy_. And after all, after everything they'd been through, they deserved to be happy. Besides, what she'd sensed in the heart of the Slayer power, could've been anything. Anything at all. Or even – nothing. But if it wasn't… She should do something now, tell them what she'd seen. She stopped and opened her mouth to speak, and then…

Buffy was laughing at something Spike had whispered in her ear. Willow couldn't remember the last time she'd heard her laugh like that, so relaxed and joyful. The wrongness in the Slayer power wasn't all she'd seen in Buffy's mind. She'd seen this – this connection finally acknowledged, this need finally answered, this love finally given and joyfully received after so long – so very long. She hesitated. Now wasn't the time. She'd talk to the coven first, and maybe Giles… or… not… but she'd do the research thing, and then decide what to do, because frankly? Right now, she couldn't bear to hurt this. Seeing something good finally come out of all the mess of the past years was healing her, too.

Her decision made, she hurried to catch up with the others and fell in beside Dawn and Andrew, following Spike and Buffy, moving on together through the cool of the Roman night.


End file.
